• 


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*         '" 


''  '  "• 


THE   COMEDY  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 
BY  H.   DE  BALZAC. 


SCENES   FROM   PARISIAN   LIFE. 
PERE    GORIOT. 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC. 


"  Balzac  is  perhaps  the  greatest  name  in  the  post-Revolutionary  literature 
of  France.  His  writings  display  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  human  heart, 
with  extraordinary  range  of  knowledge.  .  .  .  Balzac  holds  a  more  distinct 
and  supreme  place  in  French  fiction  than  perhaps  any  English  author  does 
in  the  same  field  of  art."  —  Encyclopedia  Britannica. 

"  Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers  are  soon  to  bring  out  a  series  of  translations 
of  Balzac's  novels,  whose  acknowledged  cJiefs  tfceuvres  are  superior  to  every- 
thing of  their  kind  in  English  letters.  The  initial  volume,  which  is  '  Pere 
Goriot,'  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  printers,  and  may  soon  be  expected.  It 
will  be  followed  by  another  after  a  short  interval,  and  this  by  others,  provided 
the  novel  readers  of  America  can  be  made  to  perceive  the  surpassing  excel- 
lence of  this  great  French  master,  who  is  to  the  novelists  of  the  nineteenth 
century  what  Shakspeare  was  to  the  dramatists  of  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  —  the  incomparable  author  of  Le  Come'die  Humaine.  This 
translation  of  Balzac  ought  to  succeed,  and  will  succeed."  —  Richard  Henry 
Stoddard 

"  Balzac,  though  he  paints  human  life  perhaps  too  much  in  tints  of  fate 
that  remind  us  of  the  Greek  tragedians,  is  far  deeper  and  more  true  to  nature 
than  George  Sand  or  Rousseau.  The  teachings  implied  in  his  tales  come 
home  closer  to  the  conscience  and  heart  than  do  their  essays  and  stories. 
There  is  in  him  more  than  Gallic  blood.  He  is  the  greatest  of  novelists, 
unmatched  in  his  guild  or  kind  as  a  social  philosopher,  and  unsurpassed  in 
his  literary  style.  As  a  romance-writer  he  has  no  peer  as  yet  in  the  English 
tongue."  —  Rev  Dr.  C.  A.  Bartol. 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC 


PERE  GORIOT 


ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

3     SOMERSET     STREET 

BOSTON 

1885 


Copyright,  1885, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFACE.1 


IN  giving  to  a  work,  begun  nearly  thirteen  years  ago,  the 
title  of  "  The  Comedy  of  Human  Life,"  it  is  necessary  that 
I  should  state  its  purpose,  relate  its  origin,  and  give  some 
explanation  of  its  plan;  endeavoring  to  do  so  as  if  I  had  no 
personal  interest  in  the  matter.  This  is  not  as  difficult  as  the 
public  might  imagine.  The  writing  of  a  few  books  makes  a 
man  self-sufficient;  but  much  labor  and  hard  toil  bring  hu- 
mility. This  reflection  explains  the  survey  which  Corneille, 
Moliere,  and  other  great  authors  made  of  their  writings.  If 
it  is  impossible  to  equal  them  in  the  grandeur  of  their  con- 
ceptions, at  least  we  may  share  the  spirit  with  which  they 
examined  them. 

The  leading  idea  of  this  human  comedy  came  to  me  at 
first  like  a  dream;  like  one  of  those  impossible  visions  which 
we  try  to  clasp  as  they  elude  us;  a  smiling  fancy  showing  for 
a  moment  a  woman's  face,  as  it  spreads  its  wings  and  rises 
to  the  ideal  heavens.  But  soon  this  vision,  this  chimera, 
changed,  after  the  fashion  of  chimeras,  into  a  living  shape 
with  compelling  will  and  tyrannous  power,  to  which  I  yielded 
myself  up.  The  idea  came  from  the  study  of  human  life  in 
comparison  with  the  life  of  animals. 

1  This  preface,  written  forty-three  years  ago,  is  placed  here  to  give 
Balzac's  own  interpretation  of  his  books.  Without  it  they  will  not  be 
fully  understood.  His  letters,  published  after  his  death,  reveal  in  like 
manner  the  man  himself,  his  wonderful  method  of  work,  and  the  sin- 
cerity of  this  preface. 


2024327 


vi  Preface. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  controversy  which  in 
these  latter  days  has  arisen  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffroy 
Saint-Hilaire  rests  upon  a  scientific  innovation.  Synthetic 
unity  filled,  under  various  definitions,  the  greatest  minds  of 
the  two  preceding  centuries.  In  reading  the  strange  books 
of  those  mystical  writers  who  drew  science  into  their  concep- 
tions of  the  infinite, — such  as  Swedenborg,  Saint-Martin, 
and  others;  also  the  writings  of  the  great  naturalists,  Leib- 
nitz, Buffon,  Charles  Bonnet,  etc.,  —  we  find  in  the  monads  of 
Leibnitz,  in  the  organic  molecules  of  Buffon,  in  the  vegetative 
force  of  Needham,  in  the  encasement  of  germs  of  Charles 
Bonnet,  who  was  bold  enough  to  write  in  1760,  "  animal  life 
vegetates  like  plant  life,"  —  we  find,  I  say,  the  rudiments  of 
that  strong  law  of  self-preservation  upon  which  rests  the  the- 
ory of  synthetic  unity.  There  is  but  one  animal.  The  Cre- 
ator used  one  and  the  same  principle  for  all  organized  being. 
An  animal  is  an  essence  which  takes  external  form,  or,  to 
speak  more  correctly,  takes  the  differences  of  its  form  from 
the  centres  or  conditions  in  which  it  comes  to  its  develop- 
ment. All  zoological  species  grow  out  of  these  differences. 
The  announcement  and  pursuit  of  this  theory,  keeping  it  as 
he  did  in  harmony  with  preconceived  ideas  of  the  Divine 
power,  will  be  the  lasting  glory  of  Geoffroy  Saint-Hilaire,  the 
conqueror  of  Cuvier  in  this  particular  branch  of  science,  — 
a  fact  recognized  by  the  great  Goethe  in  the  last  words  which 
came  from  his  pen. 

Filled  with  these  ideas,  I  had  perceived,  long  before  this 
discussion  arose,  that  Society  in  these  respects  is  like  Nature. 
Society  makes  the  man;  he  develops  according  to  the  social 
centres  in  which  he  is  placed:  there  are  as  many  different 
men  as  there  are  species  in  zoology.  The  differences  between 
a  soldier,  a  workman,  a  governor,  a  lawyer,  a  man  of  leisure,  a 
scholar,  a  statesman,  a  merchant,  a  sailor,  a  poet,  a  beggar,  a 
priest,  though  more  difficult  to  decipher,  are  at  least  as  marked 
as  those  which  separate  the  wolf,  the  lion,  the  ass,  the  crow, 


Preface.  vii 

the  shark,  the  seal,  the  lamb,  etc.  There  have  always  been, 
and  always  will  be,  social  species  just  as  there  are  zoological 
species.  If  Bivffou  achieved  a  great  work  when  he  put  together 
in  one  book  the  whole  scheme  of  zoology,  is  there  not  a  work 
of  the  same  kind  to  be  done  for  Society,?  Nature  imposes 
upon  the  animal  kingdom  limitations  which  do  not  bind  the 
social  realm.  When  Buffon  had  described  a  lion,  he  could  dis- 
miss the  lioness  with  a  word;  but  in  the  world  of  men,  woman 
is  far  .from  being  the  female  of  the  male.  Two  species  of  man- 
kind may  exist  in  one  household:  the  wife  of  a  shopkeeper 
is  sometimes  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  a  prince;  often  the  wife  of 
a  prince  is  unworthy  to  be  the  companion  of  the  meanest 
laborer.  ^  The  Social  kingdom  has  uncertainties  and  acci- 
dents which  are  not  to  be  found  in  the  natural  world,  for  it 
is  itself  Nature  plus  Society.^  Any  description  of  the  social 
species,  consequently,  doubles  all  description  of  the  animal 
species  in  the  matter  of  the  sexes  alone. 

Moreover,  among  animals  there  is  no  drama,  no  current  of 
events  to  excite  and  move  them;  the  circumstances  of  their 
life  are  not  confusing;  they  attack  each  other,  and  that  is  all. 
Men  attack  each  other  in  like  manner,  but  their  greater  or 
lesser  intelligence  renders  the  struggle  far  more  complicated. 
If  some  scientific  men  do  not  yet  admit  that  the  animal  world 
is  transfused  into  the  human  world  by  the  current  of  the 
original  principle  of  life,  it  is  at  least  certain  that  a  grocer 
can  become  peer  of  France,  and  a  noble  may  fall  to  the  lowest 
social  stratum.  Further  than  this:  Buffon  found  the  life  of 
animals  extremely  simple.  They  have  no  belongings,  neither 
arts  nor  sciences;  while  man,  by  a  law  still  unexplained,  feels 
the  need  to  set. the  stamp  of  his  habits,  his  thoughts,  his  be- 
ing, upon  all  that  he  collects  to  meet  his  wants.  Though 
Leuwenhoec,  Swammerdam,  Spallanzani,  Rdaumur,  Charles 
Bonnet,  Muller,  Haller,  and  other  patient  zoologists  proclaim 
the  interest  which  attaches  to  the  habits  of  animals,  yet  to 
our  eyes  at  least  they  remain  perpetually  the  same;  whereas 


viii  Preface. 

the  habits  clothing,  methods  of  speech,  the  abodes  of  princes, 
bankers,  artists,  citizens,  priests,  and  paupers,  are  all  widely 
dissimilar,  and  change  with  the  whims  of  civilization. 

For  these  reasons  my  ideal  work  took  on  a  triple  form,  — 
men,  women,  and  things;  that  is  to  say,  persons  and  the 
material  representation  which  they  gave  to  their  being:  in 
short,  man  and  his  life. 

In  reading  the  dry  and  sapless  dictionaries  of  facts  which 
are  called  history,  who  does  not  feel  that  the  writers  .of  all 
epochs  —  Egyptian,  Persian,  Grecian,  Roman  —  have  for- 
gotten to  give  us  the  vital  history  of  manners  and  customs? 
That  fragment  of  Petronius  upon  the  private  life  of  Rome 
provokes  more  curiosity  than  it  satisfies.  It  was  a  sense  of 
this  enormous  void  in  the  history  of  the  world  that  led  the 
Abbe  Barthelemy  to  spend  his  life  in  reproducing  Grecian 
manners  by  his  "  Anacharsis." 

But  how  was  it  possible  to  bring  within  the  compass  of  a 
reader's  interest  the  three  or  four  thousand  personages  who 
form  Society?  How  could  I  satisfy  at  one  and  the  same 
time  the  poets,  the  philosophers,  and  the  multitude  who  must 
have  their  poetry  and  their  philosophy  presented  to  them 
under  salient  forms?  However  just  my  conception  of  the 
dignity  and  the  poetry  of  this  history  of  the  human  heart 
might  be,  I  could  see  no  way  to  put  it  into  execution.  Up 
to  our  own  time  all  celebrated  tellers  of  tales  had  spent 
their  talent  on  creating  two  or  three  typical  characters,  or 
in  painting  some  one  limited  aspect  of  human  life. 

Thus  thinking,  I  turned  to  the  wurks  of  Walter  Scott. 
Walter  Scott,  the  troubadour  of  modern  times,  had  then  just 
placed  the  imprint  of  his  wondrous  method  upon  a  species  of 
composition  hitherto  unjustly  rated  as  secondary.  Is  it  not 
far  more  difficult  to  enter  the  lists  against  ordinary  life  with 
Daphne  and  Chloe,  Roland,  Amadis,  Panurge,  Don  Quixote, 
Maiion  Lescaut,  Clarissa  Harlowe,  Lovelace,  Robinson  Crusoe, 
Gil  Bias,  Ossian,  Julie  d'Etanges,  My  Uncle  Toby,  Werther, 


Preface.  ix 

Rene,  Corinne,  Paul  and  Virginia,  Jeanie  Deans,  Claver- 
house,  Ivanhoe,  Manfred,  Mignou,  than  to  put  in  order  his- 
torical facts  which  are  much  the  same  in  all  nations,  or  search 
out  the  meaning  of  laws  long  fallen  into  disuse;  to  revive  for- 
gotten theories  that  once  led  nations  astray,  or  explain,  like 
certain  metaphysicians,  the  secret  of  the  things  that  be?  In 
the  first  place,  nearly  all  these  characters,  whose  lives  ar<" 
longer  and  far  more  vital  than  those  of  the  generation  in 
which  they  were  born,  live  only  so  far  as  they  are  allied  to 
the  life  of  the  present  day.  Conceived  in  the  womb  of  their 
century,  the  human  heart  within  them  beats  for  all  time,  and 
holds  in  many  instances  the  germ  of  a  philosophy.  Walter 
Scott  raised  to  the  philosophical  value  of  history  that  form  of 
literature  which  from  age  to  age  has  starred  with  immortal 
gems  the  poetic  crown  of  nations  where  letters  and  the  arts 
are  cultivated.  He  put  into  it  the  mind  of  the  days  of  old; 
he  brought  together  drama,  dialogue,  portraiture,  description, 
scenery,  the  supernatural  with  the  natural, — two  elements 
of  hi.s  epoch;  and  side  by  side  with  poesy  and  majesty  he 
placed  the  familiarities  of  the  humblest  speech.  Yet  with  all 
this  he  did  not  so  much  conceive  a  system,  as  find  a  method 
in  the  inspiration  of  his  work,  or  in  the  logic  of  it;  and  thus 
he  never  dreamed  of  binding  his  compositions  one  to  another 
as  a  complete  history,  of  which  each  chapter  should  be  a  ro- 
mance, and  each  romance  an  epoch. 

In  perceiving  this  lack  of  unity,  which  nevertheless  does 
not  render  the  great  Scotchman  less  great,  I  came  to  see  the 
system  under  which  I  ought  to  execute  my  idea,  and  also  the 
possibility  of  executing  it.  Though  dazzled,  so  to  speak,  by 
the  amazing  fecundity  of  Walter  Scott,  who  is  always  in  har- 
mony with  himself  and  always  original,  I  was  not  disheart- 
ened; for  I  knew  that  this  faculty  grew  out  of  the  infinite  va- 
riety of  human  life.  Chance  is  the  great  romance-maker  of 
the  ages :  we  have  only  to  study  it  if  we  seek  to  be  fertile  in 
representation. 


x  Preface. 

Society  as  it  exists  in  France  was  therefore  to  be  the  his- 
torian ;  I  was  to  be  its  secretary.  lii  drawing  up  the  inven- 
tory of  its  virtues  and  its  vices,  in  collecting  the  facts  of  its 
manifold  passions,  in  picturing  its  characters,  in  choosing 
its  leading  events,  in  constructing  types  by  putting  together 
traits  of  homogeneous  natures,  I  might  perhaps  attain  to  the 
writing  of  that  history  forgotten  by  historians,  —  the  history 
of  manners  and  the  ways  of  life.  By  the  exercise  of  much 
patience  and  much  courage  I  might  hope  to  accomplish  for 
France  of  the  nineteenth  century  what  Rome,  Athens,  Tyre, 
Memphis,  Persia,  India,  had  unhappily  failed  to  bestow  upon 
their  civilizations,  —  a  work  such  as  the  patient  and  cour- 
ageous Monteil,  following  the  example  of  the  Abbe  Barthe- 
lemy,  had  endeavored,  but  with  little  attraction,  to  accomplish 
for  the  Middle  Ages. 

This,  however,  was  not  all.  A  writer  who  placed  before 
his  mind  the  duty  of  exact  reproduction  might  become  a 
painter  of  human  types  more  or  less  faithful,  successful, 
courageous,  and  patient;  he  might  be  the  annalist  of  the 
dramas  of  private  life,  the  archaeologist  of  the  social  fabric, 
the  sponsor  of  trades  and  professions,  the  registrar  of  good 
and  evil.  And  yet,  to  merit  the  applause  at  which  all  artists 
should  aim,  ought  he  not  also  to  study  the  reasons — or  the 
reason  —  of  the  conditions  of  social  life;  ought  he  not  to  seize 
the  hidden  meaning  of  this  vast  accretion  of  beings,  of  pas- 
sions, of  events  ?  Finally,  having  sought  —  I  will  not  say 
found  —  this  reason,  this  social  mainspring,  was  he  not  bound 
to  study  natural  law,  and  discover  why  and  when  Society  ap- 
proached or  swerved  away  from  the  eternal  principles  of 
truth  and  beauty?  Notwithstanding  the  range  of  these 
premises,  which  in  themselves  would  fill  a  volume,  the  work 
in  its  entirety  should  be  shown  to  have  a  final  meaning. 
Thus  depicted,  Society  might  be  made  to  wear  upon  its  brow 
the  reasons  of  its  being. 
N  The  law  of  the  writer,  —  that  which  makes  him  a  teacher 


Preface.  xi 

of  men;  that  which,  I  presume  to  say,  renders  him  the  equal 
and  even  the  superior  of  the  statesman,  —  is  to  pass  judg- 
ment upon  human  affairs  with  a  single  eye  to  their  originat- 
ing causes. \\JMachiavelli,  Hobbes,  Bossuet,  Leibnitz,  Kant, 
Montesquieu,  divulge  the  science  which  statesmen  apply. 
"  A  writer  should  have  fixed  opinions  in  ethics  and  in 
politics  ;  he  should  regard  himself  as  an  instructor  :  and 
mankind  does  not  need  to  be  instructed  how  to  doubt," 
said  Bonald.  I  took  these  noble  words  early  to  heart  as  the 
rule  of  my  work :  they  are  the  law  of  all  monarchical  writers. 
Therefore  when  my  critics  quote  me  against  myself,  it  will  be 
found  that  they  have  misunderstood  some  irony,  or  distorted 
to  my  injury  some  saying  of  my  personages,  —  a  trick  not 
uncommon  among  calumniators.  As  for  the  inward  meaning, 
the  soul  of  my  work,  the  following  principles  are  the  founda- 
tion on  which  it  rests:  — • 

Man  is  neither  good  nor  bad ;  he  is  born  with  instincts  and 
capacities.  Society,  far  from  depraving  him,  as  Rousseau 
asserts,  perfects  and  lifts  him  higher;  but  self-interest  in- 
terposes, and  develops  his  evil  tendencies.  Christianity, 
and  especially  Catholicism,  being,  as  I  have  said  in  "  The 
Country  Doctor,"  a  complete  system  for  the  repression  of 
the  selfish  instincts  of  mankind,  is  the  strongest  element 
of  the  social  order. 

If  we  study  carefully  a  representation  of  Society  moulded 
as  it  were  upon  the  living  form,  with  all  its  good  and  all  its 
evil,  we  shall  find  that  while  thought,  —  or  rather  passion, 
which  is  thought  and  feeling  combined,  —  is  the  social  ele- 
ment and  bond,  it  is  also  an  element  of  destruction.  In  this 
respect  the  social  life  is  like  the  physical  life :  races  and  men 
attain  longevity  only  by  the  non-exhaustion  of  the  vital  force. 
Consequently  instruction  —  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  reli- 
gious education  — is  the  great  principle  of  the  life  of  Society, 
the  only  means  of  diminishing  the  total  of  evil  and  augment- 
ing the  total  of  good  in  human  life.  Thought,  the  fountain 


xii  Preface. 

of  all  good  and  of  all  evil,  cannot  be  trained,  mastered,  and 
directed  except  by  religion  ;  and  the  only  possible  religion  is 
Christianity,  which  created  the  modern  world  and  will  pre- 
serve it.1  From  it  sprang  the  need  of  the  monarchical  prin- 
ciple; in  fact,  Christianity  and  monarchy  are  twin  principles. 
As  to  the  limits  within  which  both  should  be  held  and  regu- 
lated lest  they  develop  to  their  inherent  conclusions,  my 
readers  will  agree  with  me  that  this  brief  preface  is  not  the 
place  for  such  discussion.  Neither  can  I  enter  upon  the 
religious  and  political  dissensions  of  the  present  day.  I 
write  by  the  light  of  two  eternal  truths,  —  religion  and  mon- 
archy :  two  necessities  proclaimed  by  contemporaneous  events, 
and  towards  which  every  writer  of  sound  judgment  will  en- 
deavor to  bring  back  this  nation.  Though  I  am  not  an 
enemy  to  election,  which  is  a  sound  principle  in  the  consti- 
tution of  law,  I  reject  it  when  taken  as  the  sole  expression  of 
the  social  will,  and  especially  when  organized  as  it  is  at  this 
moment.  The  suffrage,  if  granted  to  all,  will  give  us  govern- 
ment by  the  masses,  —  the  only  government  that  is  irrespon- 
sible, and  whose  tyranny  will  be  without  check  because 
exercised  under  the  name  of  law.  For  myself,  I  regard  the 
family  and  not  the  individual  as  the  true  essence  of  social 
life.  In  this  respect,  and  at  the  risk  of  being  thought  retro- 
grade, I  stand  by  Bossuet  and  Bonald,  instead  of  advancing 
with  modem  innovators. 

There  are  persons  to  whom  these  remarks  will  seem  arro- 
gant and  presumptuous;  they  will  quarrel  with  a  novelist  who 
assumes  to  be  an  historian,  and  ask  why  he  thus  promulgates 
his  theories.  My  sole  reply  is,  that  I  obey  a  sense  of  duty. 
The  work  I  have  undertaken  will  spread  to  the  proportions 
of  history,  and  it  is  due  to  my  readers  that  I  should  state  its 

1  See  a  letter  written  from  Paris  in  "  Louis  Lambert,"  in  which  the 
mystical  young  philosopher  shows,  apropos  of  the  doctrine  of  Swe- 
denborg,  that  there  has  been  but  one  religion  since  the  creation  of  the 
world. 


Preface.  xiii 

purpose,  hitherto  unexplained,  together  with  its  principles 
and  ethics. 

Having  withdrawn  various  prefaces  which  were  published 
in  reply  to  criticisms  essentially  ephemeral,  I  shall  here 
recall  only  one  of  the  observations  which  I  have  heretofore 
made  upon  my  books. 

Writers  who  have  an  end  in  view,  be  it  even  a  return  to 
the  principles  of  the  past  for  the  reason  that  they  contain 
truths  which  are  eternal,  should  be  careful  to  clear  their  way 
of  all  difficulties.  Now,  whoever  attacks  the  realm  of  pre- 
conceived ideas,  whoever  points  out  an  abuse,  or  sets  a  mark 
on  evils  that  they  may  be  checked  and  curtailed,  is  held, 
almost  invariably,  to  be  unprincipled.\  The  reproach  of 
immorality  has  never  failed  to  pursue  a  courageous  writer, 
and  is  often  the  only  arrow  in  the  quiver  of  those  who  can 
say  nothing  else  against  a  poe£"  If  a  man  is  faithful  in  his 
portraiture;  if,  toiling  night  and  day,  he  attains  at  last  to  a 
full  expression  of  that  life  and  language  which  of  all  others 
is  the  most  difficult  to  render,  —  the  stigma  of  immorality 
is  flung  upon  him.  Thus  Socrates  was  immoral;  so  was 
Christ :  both  were  pursued  in  the  name  of  that  social  order 
which  they  overthrew  or  reformed.  When  a  man  is  to  be 
destroyed,  this  charge  is  brought  against  him;  but  the  trick, 
practised  by  partisans  of  all  conditions,  recoils  with  shame 
upon  the  heads  of  those  who  employ  it. 

In  copying  the  whole  of  Society,  and  in  trying  to  seize  its 
likeness  from  the  midst  of  the  seething  struggle,  it  necessarily 
happens  that  more  of  evil  than  of  good  is  shown.  Thus 
gome  portion  of  the  fresco  representing  a  guilty  group  excites 
the  cry  of  immorality,  while  the  critic  fails  to  point  out  a 
corresponding  part  which  was  intended  to  show  a  moral  con- 
trast. As  such  critics  were  ignorant  of  my  general  plan  I 
readily  pardon  their  mistake,  for  an  author  can  no  more 
hinder  criticism  than  he  can  hinder  the  use  of  sight  or  hear- 
ing or  language.  Besides,  the  day  of  impartial  judgment 


xiv  Preface. 

has  not  yet  dawned  for  me  ;  and  I  may  add  that  the  writer 
who  cannot  stand  the  fire  of  criticism  is  no  more  fit  to  start 
upon  the  career  of  authorship  than  a  traveller  is  fit  to  under- 
take a  journey  if  he  is  prepared  only  for  fine  weather.  I 
shall  merely  remark,  that  although  the  most  scrupulous  mor- 
alists have  doubted  whether  Society  is  able  to  show  as  much 
good  as  it  shows  evil,  yet  in  the  pictures  which  I  have  made 
of  it  virtuous  characters  outnumber  the  bad.  Blameworthy 
conduct,  faults,  and  crimes  have  invariably  received  their 
punishment,  human  or  divine,  startling  or  secret.  In  this 
I  have  done  better  than  the  historian,  for  I  have  been  free  to 
do  so.  Cromwell  here  below  received  no  other  chastisement 
than  that  inflicted  by  the  thoughts  of  men ;  and  even  those 
were  vacillating,  for  Bossuet  himself  dealt  charitably  with 
the  great  regicide.  William  of  Orange  the  usurper,  and 
Hugh  Capet  that  other  usurper,  died  full  of  days,  without 
more  to  suffer  or  to  fear  than  Henry  IV.  or  Charles  I.  The 
lives  of  Catherine  of  Russia  and  Frederick  the  Great  were  at 
war  with  every  species  of  morality,  even  if  judged  from  the 
double  point  of  view  of  the  virtue  which  regulates  men  at 
large,  and  of  that  other  virtue  reserved  for  crowned  heads, 
which  claims,  with  Napoleon,  that  for  kings  and  statesmen 
there  are  two  moralities,  —  a  greater  and  a  lesser.  My 
"  Scenes  from  Political  Life  "  are  based  on  this  reflection. 
History  does  not,  like  the  novel,  hold  up  the  law  of  a  higher 
ideal.  History  is,  or  should  be,  the  world  as  it  has  been ;  the 
novel — to  use  a  saying  of  Madame  Necker,  one  of  the  remark- 
able minds  of  the  last  century  —  should  paint  a  possible  better 
world. 

Yet  even  so,  the  novel  would  be  worth  little  if  it  pictured 
only  such  august  fiction,  and  failed  in  truth  of  detail. 
Here  it  is  that  Walter  Scott,  forced  to  conform  to  the  ideas 
of  a  public  essentially  hypocritical,  was  false  to  humanity  in 
his  delineation  of  women :  he  drew  them  from  the  point  of 
view  of  a  schismatic.  The  woman  of  Protestant  nations  is 


Preface.  xv 

without  ideal.  She  is  chaste,  pure,  virtuous;  but  her  love, 
without  flow  of  thought  or  emotion,  remains  calm,  like  a 
duty  fulfilled.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  loss  of  the  Virgin 
Mary  had  chilled  the  hearts  of  the  sophists  who  banished  her 
from  heaven,  with  all  her  treasures  of  mercy  and  of  pity. 
Under  the  Protestant  system  there  is  nothing  left  for  a  wo- 
man who  has  once  fallen ;  but  in  the  Catholic  Church  the 
hope  of  pardon  still  ennobles  her  life.  Thus  there  is  but 
one  woman  for  the  Protestant  writer,  while  for  the  Catholic 
there  is  an  ever  new  woman  in  all  her  varying  situations. 
If  Walter  Scott  had  been  a  Catholic,  and  if  he  had  placed 
before  his  mind  the  task  of  describing  truthfully  those  phases 
of  Society  through  which  Scotland  has  passed,  perhaps  the 
painter  of  Effie  and  Alice  (two  characters  which  in  his  latter 
days  he  reproached  himself  for  having  drawn)  would  have 
admitted  into  his  work  the  history  of  passions,  with  their 
faults,  their  punishments,  and  the  virtues  which  repentance 
brings.  Passion  is  humanity;  without  it  religion,  history, 
romance,  art,  would  not  exist.^ 

In  seeing  me  collect  this  mass  of  facts  and  paint  them  as 
they  are,  in  their  element  of  passionate  emotion,  some  per- 
sons have  imagined,  very  erroneously,  that  I  belong  to  the 
school  of  materialists  and  sensualists,  —  two  aspects  of  Pan- 
theism. They  are  mistaken.  I  put  no  faith  in  any  indefi- 
nite advancement  of  Society;  I  believe  in  the  progress  and 
development  of  the  individual  man.  Those  who  find  in  me 
a  disposition  to  look  on  man  as  a  completed  being  are 
strangely  deceived.  "  Seraphita,"  which  gives  what  I  may 
call  the  doctrine  of  the  Christian  Buddha,  is  my  answer  to 
this  accusation. 

In  certain  parts  of  my  long  work  I  have  tried  to  popularize 
those  amazing  facts,  those  prodigies  of  electricity,  which  pro- 
duce within  a  man  some  unexplained  magnetic  power.  But 
how,  let  me  ask,  can  any  such  phenomena  of  the  brain  and 
nerves,  even  though  they  denote  the  existence  of  a  new  moral 


xvi  Preface. 

world,  affect  or  change  the  known  and  necessary  relations 
between  mankind  and  God?  In  what  way  can  they  shake 
Catholic  dogma?  If  incontestable  facts  hereafter  prove  that 
thought  must  be  classed  among  the  fluids  which  are  known 
only  by  their  effects,  and  of  which  the  substance  escapes  our 
human  perceptions,  aided  though  they  be  by  all  mechanical 
facilities,  still  this  would  be  no  more  amazing  than  the  cir- 
cumference of  the  globe  perceived  by  Columbus,  or  its  rota- 
tory motion  revealed  through  Galileo.  Our  future  will  remain 
the  same.  Animal  magnetism,  with  whose  miracles  I  have 
been  familiar  since  1820;  the  phrenological  researches  of 
Gall,  successor  to  Lavater;  in  fact  the  works  of  all  those  who 
for  fifty  years  have  studied  thought  as  opticians  have  studied 
light,  —  two  things  not  dissimilar,  —  give  evidence  both  for 
the  mystics  and  the  disciples  of  St.  John  the  Apostle,  and  also 
for  those  great  thinkers  who  have  endeavored  to  think  out  a 
spiritual  world,  a  new  sphere,  in  which  shall  be  revealed  the 
relations  between  man  and  God. 

If  the  meaning  of  my  work  is  understood,  my  readers  will 
see  that  I  give  to  the  recurring  events  of  daily  life,  —  secret  or 
manifest,  —  and  to  the  actions  of  individuals,  with  their  hid- 
den springs  and  motives,  as  much  importance  as  the  historian 
bestows  on  the  public  life  of  a  nation.  The  obscure  battle 
fought  in  the  valley  of  the  Indre  between  Madame  de  Mort- 
sauf  and  her  temptation  ("The  Lily  in  the  Valley")  was 
perhaps  as  great  a  struggle  as  the  most  illustrious  combat 
ever  related  in  history.  In  the  latter,  fame  was  the  conquer- 
or's guerdon;  in  hers,  the  peace  of  heaven.  The  misfortunes 
of  the  Birotteaus,  the  priest  and  the  perfumer,  are  to  me  the 
woes  of  humanity.  La  Fosseuse  in  "  The  Country  Doctor," 
and  Madame  Graslin  in  "  The  Village  Curate,"  reveal  nearly 
the  whole  of  woman's  life.  We  suffer  day  by  day  all  that 
these  people  suffered.  I  have  had  to  do  a  hundred  times 
what  Richardson  did  once.  Lovelace  presents  himself  under 
a  thousand  shapes,  for  social  corruption  takes  the  color  of 


Preface.  xvii 

the  centres  in  which  it  develops.  On  the  other  hand  Clarissa, 
that  lovely  image  of  passionate  virtue,  has  lines  of  purity  that 
fill  me  with  despair.  To  create  many  virgins  one  needs  to  be 
a  Raphael,  for  literature  in  this  respect  falls  below  art.  Nev- 
ertheless, I  here  call  my  readers'  attention  to  the  large  num- 
ber of  virtuous  and  irreproachable  characters  which  may  be 
found  in  my  works,  —  Pierrette  Lorrain,  Ursule  Mirouet, 
Constance  Birotteau,  La  Fosseuse,  Eugenie  Grandet,  Mar- 
guerite Claes,  Pauline  de  Villerioix,  Madame  Jules,  Madame 
de  la  Chanterie,  Eve  Chardon,  Mademoiselle  d'Esgrignon, 
Madame  Firmiani,  Agathe  Rouget,  Reuee  de  Maucombe; 
together  with  many  characters  on  the  second  plane,  which, 
though  less  important  to  the  story,  keep  before  the  reader's 
mind  the  simple  practical  virtues  of  domestic  life,  —  such 
for  instance  as  Joseph  Lebas,  Genestas,  Benassis,  the  curate 
Bonnet,  the  doctor  Minoret,  Pillerault,  David  Sechard,  the 
two  Birotteaus,  the  curate  Chaperon,  the  judge  Popinot, 
Bourgeat,  Sanviat,  the  Tascherons,  and  many  others;  have 
they  not  solved  the  difficult  literary  problem  of  making  virtue 
interesting? 

It  has  been  no  light  task  to  paint  the  three  or  four  thou- 
sand salient  figures  of  an  epoch,  — for  that  is  about  the  num- 
ber of  types  presented  by  the  generation  of  which  this  human 
comedy  is  the  contemporary  and  the  exponent.  This  number 
of  figures,  of  characters,  this  multitude  of  portraits  needed 
frames,  permit  me  even  to  say  galleries.  Out  of  this  neces- 
sity grew  the  classification  of  my  work  into  Scenes,  —  scenes 
from  private,  provincial,  Parisian,  political,  military,  and  coun- 
try life.  Under  these  heads  I  have  classed  all  those  studies 
of  manners  and  morals  which  form  the  general  history  of 
Society  and  of  its  "  conduct  of  life  and  noble  deeds  "  (faits 
et  gestes),  to  use  the  language  of  our  ancestors.  These  six 
divisions  follow  a  general  idea  ;  each  has  its  meaning  and 
signification,  and  represents  a  distinct  phase  in  human  life. 
The  "  Scenes  from  private  life  "  are  those  of  childhood  and  of 
b 


xviii  Preface. 

youth,  just  as  the  "  Scenes  from  provincial  life  "  represent  the 
age  of  passions,  calculations,  self-interest,  and  ambition. 
The  "  Scenes  from  Parisian  life  "  draw  the  picture  of  tastes, 
fashions,  sentiments,  vices,  and  all  those  unbridled  extrava- 
gances excited  by  the  life  of  great  cities,  where  meet  together 
the  extremes  of  good  and  the  extremes  of  evil.  Each  of 
these  three  divisions  has  its  local  color.  Paris  and  the  pro- 
vinces—  that  social  antithesis  —  furnished  the  data.  Not 
only  men  but  events  may  be  formulated  by  types ;  and  there 
are  situations  in  the  lives  of  all,  typical  phases,  which  I  have 
sought  out  and  studied  carefully.  I  have  also  tried  to  give 
an  idea  of  the  different  regions  of  our  beautiful  land.  My 
•work  thus  has  its  geography  as  it  has  its  genealogy,  its  fami- 
lies, its  centres,  persons,  actions;  its  armorial  history,  its 
nobles,  artisans,  citizens,  peasants;  its  politics,  its  men  of 
fashion,  its  army,  —  in  short,  its  world  of  men  and  things. 

After  drawing  these  three  sections  of  Society,  I  wished  to 
show  certain  other  phases  of  life  which  unite  the  interests 
of  some  or  of  all,  and  yet  are  partly  aloof  from  the  common 
order.  Out  of  this  desire  came  the  "  Scenes  from  political 
life,"  also  the  "  Scenes  from  military  life;  "  in  the  latter  I 
have  sought  to  show  Society  in  convulsion,  carried  out  of  itself 
either  for  conquest  or  for  defence.  Finally,  the  "  Scenes 
from  country  life"  are,  as  it  were,  the  evening  of  my  long 
day's-work,  if  I  may  so  call  this  social  drama.  In  this 
division  will  be  found  my  purest  characters;  also  the  appli- 
cation of  the  great  principles  of  order,  of  patriotism,  and  of 
morality. 

Such  is  the  structure,  teeming  with  life,  full  of  comedy 
and  of  tragedy,  on  which  I  base  the  "  Philosophical  Studies  " 
which  form  the  second  part  of  my  work.  In  these  I  have 
shown  the  keynote  of  that  vast  assemblage  of  all  that  strikes 
the  eye,  that  captivates  the  mind  or  touches  the  heart;  I 
have  shown  the  havoc  that  has  followed  thought,  step  by 


Preface.  xix 

step,  from  emotion  to  emotion.  The  first  of  these  volumes, 
"  The  Shagreen  Skin,"  unites  the  philosophical  study  to  a 
picture  of  manners  and  morals  by  means  of  a  fantasy,  partly 
Oriental,  which  shows  the  principle  of  life  itself  in  a  struggle 
with  the  principle  of  all  passion. 

Above  these  again  will  be  found  the  "  Analytical  Studies," 
of  which  I  shall  say  nothing,  as  only  one  of  them  has  been 
published.  Later,  I  hope  to  give  other  works  of  the  same 
class,  —  the  "Pathology  of  Social  life,"  the  "Anatomy  of 
Educating  bodies,"  the  "  Monograph  of  Virtue,"  etc. 

Looking  at  the  work  still  to  be  done,  perhaps  my  readers 
will  join  my  publishers  in  saying,  "  May  your  life  be  pro- 
longed! "  My  own  prayer  is  that  I  may  not  be  so  tortured 
by  men  and  events  as  I  have  been  in  the  past,  since  the  be- 
ginning of  my  great  and  terrible  labor.  Yet  I  have  had  one 
support,  for  which  I  return  thanks  to  God.  The  highest 
talent  of  our  day,  the  noblest  characters,  the  truest  friends, 
have  clasped  my  hand  and  said  to  me,  "Take  courage!" 
Why  should  I  not  own  that  such  proofs  of  affection,  such 
testimonials  given  now  and  then  by  strangers,  have  upheld 
me  in  my  career  in  spite  of  myself,  in  spite  of  unjust  attacks, 
in  spite  of  calumnies  that  have  pursued  me,  —  upheld  me 
against  dishearten ment,  and  also  against  that  too-vivid  hope, 
the  expression  of  which  has  been  mistaken  for  excessive 
self-love. 

The  extent  of  a  plan  which  embraces  both  the  history  and 
the  criticism  of  Society,  which  analyzes  its  evils  and  lays 
bare  its  hidden  springs,  justifies  me,  I  think,  in  giving  to  my 
work  the  title  under  which  it  now  appears,  — "  The  Comedy 
of  Human  Life."  Is  it  ambitious  ?  Is  it  not  just  and  legiti- 
mate ?  The  public,  when  my  work  is  done,  will  decide. 

PARIS,  July,  1842. 


SCENES  FROM  PARISIAN  LIFE. 

P£KE  GOEIOT. 
I. 

MADAME  VATJQUER,  nee  de  Conflans,  is  an  old  lady 
who  for  forty  years  has  kept  a  second-class  boarding- 
house  in  Paris,  —  a  pension  bouryeoise,  —  in  the  Rue 
Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  between  the  Latin  quarter 
and  the  faubourg  Saint-Marceau.  This  pension,  known 
as  the  Maison  Vauquer,  is  for  both  sexes  and  all  ages; 
and  up  to  the  time  of  which  we  write,  scandal  had 
found  nothing  to  say  against  the  manners  or  the  morals 
of  so  respectable  an  establishment.  It  must  be  admit- 
ted, however,  that  for  more  than  thirty  years  no  young 
woman  had  ever  lived  in  the  house,  and  it  is  certain  that 
any  young  man  who  may  have  done  so  received  but  a 
slender  allowance  from  his  family.  Nevertheless,  in 
1819,  the  date  of  the  opening  of  this  drama,  we  shall 
find  a  poor  young  girl  living  there. 

Though  the  word  drama  has  been  recklessly  ill-used 
and  misapplied  in  our  degenerate  modern  literature, 
it  is  necessary  to  employ  it  here ;  not  that  this  story  is 
dramatic  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  but  that  when 
it  ends  some  reader  may  perchance  have  dropped  a 
1 


2  Pere  Goriot. 

tear  intra  muros  et  extra.  "Will  it  be  comprehended 
beyond  the  walls  of  Paris  ?  I  doubt  it.  Its  minute 
points  of  personal  observation  and  local  color  can  be 
caught  only  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  valley  which  lies 
between  the  hills  of  Montinartre  and  the  higher  ele- 
vations of  Montrouge,  —  a  valley  full  of  plastered  archi- 
tecture crumbling  to  swift  decay,  its  gutters  black  with 
foulest  mud  ;  a  valley  teeming  with  sufferings  cruelly 
real,  and  with  joys  often  as  cruelly  false ;  a  place  so 
full  of  terrible  agitation  that  only  some  abnormal  event 
occurring  there  can  give  rise  to  more  than  a  passing 
sensation.  And  yet,  here  and  there,  even  in  Paris,  we 
encounter  griefs  to  which  attendant  circumstances  of 
vice  or  virtue  lend  a  solemn  dignity.  In  their  presence 
self  and  self-interest  pause,  checked  by  a  momentary 
pity.  But  the  impression  made  is  like  that  of  a  tooth- 
some fruit,  forgotten  as  soon  as  eaten.xN  The  car  of 
civilization,  like  that  of  Juggernaut,  is  hardly  stayed  a 
moment  by  the  resistance  of  some  heart  less  easily 
ground  to  atoms  than  its  fellows :  the  wheels  roll  on, 
the  heart  is  crushed,  the  car  advances  on  its  glorious 
way.^  You  will  do  the  same,  —  you  my  reader,  now 
holding  this  book  in  your  white  hand,  and  saying  to 
yourself  in  the  depths  of  your  easy-chair  :  "  I  wonder 
if  it  will  amuse  me ! "  When  you  have  read  the  sorrows 
of  Pi-re  Goriot  you  will  lay  the  book  aside  and  eat  your 
dinner  with  an  appetite,  and  excuse  your  own  callous- 
ness by  taxing  the  author  with  exaggeration  and  poetic 
license.  Ah  !  believe  me,  this  drama  is  no  fiction,  no 
romance.  All  is  true,  —  so  true  that  you  may  recog- 
nize its  elements  in  your  experience,  and  even  find  its 
seeds  within  your  own  soul. 


Pere  G-oriot.  3 

The  house  in  which  the  pension  is  carried  on  belongs 
to  Madame  Vauquer.  It  is  situated  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  where  the  ground 
slopes  towai-d  the  Rue  Arbalete  so  steeply  and  abruptly 
that  horses  rarely  come  up  or  down.  This  contributes 
to  the  silence  Avhich  reigns  in  the  nest  of  little  streets 
crowded  together  between  the  dome  of  the  Val-de- 
Grace  and  that  of  the  Pantheon,  —  two  buildings  which 
change  the  very  color  of  the  atmosphere  in  their  neigh- 
borhood, throwing  into  it  a  yellow  tone,  and  darken- 
ing all  by  the  shadows  flung  from  their  cupolas.  The 
pavements  of  these  streets  are  dry,  unless  it  rains ;  the 
guttei's  are  free  from  mud  and  water ;  grass  grows  in 
tufts  along  the  walls.  The  most  light-hearted  of  men 
catches  something  as  he  passes  of  the  common  sadness 
of  a  place  where  the  houses  resemble  prisons  and  the 
roll  of  a  carriage  is  an  event.  A  Parisian,  wrandering 
into  it  by  chance,  will  find  there  only  these  gray  pen- 
sions and  charitable  institutions,  sombre  with  the  gloom 
of  poverty  and  ennui, —  the  gloom  of  old  age  slowly 
passing  through  the  shadow  of  death  ;  of  youth,  whose 
youthfulness  is  crushed  out  of  it  by  the  necessities  of 
toil. 

No  part  of  Paris  is  so  depressing,  nor,  we  may  add. 
so  little  known.  The  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve, 
above  all,  may  be  likened  to  an  iron  frame,  —  the  only 
frame  fit  to  hold  the  coming  narrative,  to  which  the 
reader's  mind  must  be  led  by  sombre  colors  and  sol- 
emn thoughts;  just  as,  step  by  step,  when  the  traveller 
descends  into  the  catacombs,  the  light  fades  and  the 
song  of  the  guide  is  hushed.  An  apt  comparison ! 
Who  shall  say  which  is  the  more  awful,  —  to  watch 


4  Pere  Goriot. 

the  withering  of  a  living  heart,  or  to  gaze  upon  the 
mouldering  of  skulls  and  bones? 

The  front  of  Madame  Vauquer's  house  looks  out 
upon  a  tiny  garden,  so  that  the  building  runs  at  right 
angles  from  the  Rue  Xeuve  Sainte-Genevieve  at  its 
steepest  part.  Along  this  front,  between  the  house 
and  garden,  is  a  gutter-like  piece  of  paved  work  six 
feet  wide ;  in  front  of  this  runs  a  gravel  walk  bordered 
by  geraniums,  lauristinus,  and  pomegranates  growing 
in  large  vases  of  blue  and  white  pottery.  The  street 
gate  opens  on  this  path^  and  is  surmounted  by  the 
inscription,  "  Maison  Vauquer,"  in  large  letters  :  under- 
neath appears, "  Pension  Bourgeoise  for  both  sexes,  and 
others."  During  the  day  this  gate,  with  an  open  iron 
lattice,  fitted  also  with  a  shrill  bell,  permits  those  who 
pass  the  house  to  look  into  the  garden.  There,  at 
the  end  of  the  pavement  and  opposite  to  the  street, 
the  wall  has  been  painted  by  some  artist  of  the  neigh- 
borhood to  resemble  an  alcove  of  green  marble.  Be- 
fore this  fictitious  depression  of  the  wall  is  a  statue 
of  Cupid ;  a  half-effaced  inscription  on  the  pedestal 
indicating  that  the  age  of  this  ornament  is  coeval  with 
the  popular  enthusiasm  for  Voltaire  on  his  return  to 
Paris  in  1778  :  — 

Whoe'er  thou  art,  thy  master  see  ! 
He  is,  he  was,  or  he  will  be.1 

At  dusk  this  gate  with  its  barred  openings  gives 
place  to  a  stout  wooden  door.  The  garden,  wide  as 
the  facade  of  the  house,  is  inclosed  by  the  street  wall 

1  Qui  que  tu  sois,  void  ton  maitre  ! 
II  Test,  le  f  ut,  ou  le  doit  etre. 


Pere   Groriot.  5 

and  by  the  wall  which  divides  it  from  the  garden  of 
the  next  house.  From  these  fall  a  drapery  of  ivy 
which  conceals  them,  and  which  attracts  attention  by 
a  picturesque  effect  not  common  in  a  city.  On  both 
walls  fruit-trees  have  been  trained  and  grape-vines, 
whose  sickly,  dusty  products  are  every  year  the  objects 
of  Madame  Vauquer's  solicitude,  and  afford  a  topic  of 
convei'sation  between  herself  and  her  guests.  Under 
each  wall  runs  a  narrow  path  leading  to  a  spot  shaded 
by  lindens,  —  tilleuls.  The  word  tilleuls  Madame  Vau- 
quer,  though  presumably  of  good  family,  being  nee  de 
Conflans,  persists  in  pronouncing  tieuilles,  although 
she  has  often  been  corrected  for  it  by  her  more 
grammatical  Parisians.  Between  these  paths  is  a  bed 
of  artichokes,  flanked  by  a  row  of  fruit-trees  trained 
as  standards ;  and  the  whole  is  bordered  by  pot- 
herbs, sorrel,  lettuce,  and  parsley.  Under  the  lindens 
stands  a  round  table,  painted  green  and  surrounded  by 
benches.  Here,  during  the  dog-days,  those  guests  who 
can  afford  to  take  coffee  come  forth  to  enjoy  it  in  heat 
sufficient  to  hatch  out  a  brood  of  chickens. 

The  house  is  of  three  storeys,  with  attic  chambers. 
It  is  built  of  rough  blocks  of  stone,  plastered  with  the 
yellow  wash  that  gives  so  contemptible  a  character  to 
half  the  houses  of  Paris.  The  five  windows  of  each 
storey  of  the  facade  have  small  panes  and  are  pro- 
vided with  green  blinds,  none  of  which  correspond  in 
height,  giving  to  the  outside  of  the  house  an  aspect  of 
uncomfortable  irregularity.  At  the  narrow  or  street 
end,  the  house  has  two  windows  on  each  storey;  those 
on  the  ground-floor  have  no  blinds,  and  are  protected 
by  iron  gratings.  Behind  the  house  is  a  court-yard 


6  Pere  Groriot. 

twenty  feet  square,  where  dwells  a  "  happy  family  "  of 
pigs,  rabbits,  and  fowls.  At  the  far  end  is  a  wood-shed. 
Between  this  shed  and  the  kitchen  window  the  meat- 
safe  is  hung  up  directly  over  the  spot  where  the  greasy 
water  from  the  sink  runs  into  the  ground.  The  court 
has  a  small  door  opening  on  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte- 
Genevieve,  through  which  the  cook  sweeps  the  garbage 
of  the  house  into  the  street  gutters  when  she  washes 
out  the  drain  with  great  sluicings  of  water,  —  a  needful 
precaution  against  pestilence. 

The  ground-floor,  necessarily  the  part  of  the  house 
where  the  affairs  of  such  an  establishment  are  carried 
on,  consists,  first,  of  a  parlor  lighted  by  two  windows 
looking  upon  the  street,  which  is  entered  through  a 
glass  door.  This,  the  common  sitting-room,  leads  into 
the  dining-room,  which  is  separated  from  the  kitchen 
by  the  well  of  the  staircase,  the  steps  of  which  are  of 
wood,  laid  in  squares  and  polished.  Nothing  can  be 
more  dismal  than  this  sitting-room,  furnished  with 
chairs  and  armchairs  covered  with  a  species  of  striped 
horsehair.  In  the  centre  stands  a  round  table  with  a 
marble  top,  and  upon  it  one  of  those  white  porcelain 
tea-sets  with  gilt  edges  half  effaced,  which  now-a-days 
may  be  seen  everywhere.  The  room  has  a  shabby 
ceiling,  and  is  wainscoted  a  third  of  the  way  up  ;  the 
rest  of  the  wall  being  covered  by  varnished  paper  rep- 
resenting the  ad\  entures  of  Telemachus,  —  the  princi- 
pal classic  personages  being  clad  in  color.  The  space 
between  the  barred  windows  offers  to  the  guests  at 
Madame  Vauquer's  table  a  view  of  the  feast  prepared 
by  Calypso  for  the  son  of  Ulysses.  For  forty  years  this 
feast  has  served  the  younger  members  of  the  household 


Pcre  G-oriot.  1 

with  a  theme  for  jests,  and  enables  them  to  feel  supe- 
rior to  their  position  by  making  fun  of  the  wretched 
fare  to  which  for  lack  of  means  they  are  condemned. 
The  mantel  is  of  marble,  and  the  hearth,  always  clean, 
gives  evidence  that  a  fire  is  never  kindled  there  except 
on  great  occasions.  The  mantel-shelf  is  adorned  by 
two  vases,  filled  with  old  and  faded  artificial  flowers 
under  glass  cases,  which  flank  a  clock  of  blueish  marble 
of  the  worst  taste.  This  room  is  pervaded  by  a  smell 
for  which  there  is  no  name  in  any  language.  We  must 
cull  it  an  odsur  de  pension,  I'odeur  du  renferme,  — 
the  odor  of  the  shut-in.  It  suggests  used  air,  rancid 
grease,  and  mildew.  It  strikes  a  chill  as  of  malaria  to 
the  bones ;  it  penetrates  the  clothes  with  fetid  moisture  ; 
it  tastes  in  the  mouth  like  the  stale  fumes  of  a  dinner ; 
it  fills  the  nostrils  with  the  mingled  odors  of  a  scullery 
and  a  hospital.  Possibly  it  might  be  described  if  we 
could  invent  a  process  for  analyzing  the  nauseous  ca- 
tarrh al  elements  thrown  off  by  the  physical  conditions 
and  idiosyncrasies  of  a  long  procession  of  inmates, 
young  and  old.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  these  horrors, 
compare  the  salon  with  the  dining-room,  and  you  will 
end  by  thinking  it  as  elegant  and  as  fragrant  as  a  lady's 
boudoir. 

The  dining-room,  with  panelled  walls,  was  once 
painted  of  a  color  no  longer  discernible,  which  now 
forms  a  background  on  which  layers  of  dirt,  more  or 
less  thick,  have  made  a  variety  of  curious  patterns. 
The  room  is  surrounded  by  shelves  serving  as  side- 
boards, upon  which  stand  chipped  water-bottles,  cloudy 
and  dim,  round  mats  of  zinc  metal,  and  piles  of  plates 
made  of  thick  stone-ware  with  blue  edges,  from  the 


8  Pere  G-oriot. 

manufactory  at  Tournai.  In  one  corner  is  a  box  with 
pigeon-holes,  in  which  are  placed,  according  to  number, 
the  wine-stained  and  greasy  napkins  of  the  various 
guests.  The  whole  room  is  a  depository  of  worthless 
furniture,  rejected  elsewhere  and  gathered  here,  as  the 
battered  relics  of  humanity  are  gathered  in  hospitals 
for  the  incurable.  Here  may  be  seen  a  barometer  with 
a  hooded  monk,  who  steps  out  when  it  rains;  exe- 
crable engravings  that  turn  the  stomach,  framed  in 
varnished  black  wood  with  a  thread  of  gilding;  a 
clock-case  of  tortoise-shell  inlaid  with  copper;  a  green 
porcelain  stove;  lamps  with  dust  floating  on  the  oil;  a 
long  table  covered  with  oilcloth,  so  greasy  that  a  face- 
tious guest  has  been  seen  to  scratch  his  name  upon  it 
with  his  finger-nail ;  wretched  little  mats  made  of 
broom-straw,  slipping  from  the  feet  yet  always  in  the 
way ;  dilapidated  foot-warmers,  with  their  internal  ar- 
rangements so  worn  out  that  the  wood  is  beginning  to 
be  charred.  To  describe  how  old,  how  ragged,  rotten, 
rusty,  moth-eaten,  maimed,  shabby,  and  infirm  these 
remnants  are  would  delay  too  long  the  current  of  this 
story,  and  readers  in  haste  to  follow  it  might  complain. 
The  red-tiled  floor  is  uneven,  worn  in  places  either 
by  hard  rubbing  or  by  the  crumbling  action  of  the 
color.  In  a  word,  here  is  poverty  without  relieving 
sentiment;  hard,  bitter,  rasping  poverty.  If  filth  is 
not  yet  seen,  foul  stains  are  there;  rags  and  tatters 
may  not  appear,  but  rottenness  has  eaten  into  warp 
and  woof  with  a  sure  decay. 

The  room  appears  in  full  perfection  when  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  Madame  Vauquer's  tom-cat 
walks  in,  preceding  the  arrival  of  his  mistress.  He 


Pere  Goriot.  9 

jumps  upon  the  sideboard,  sniffs  at  the  bowls  of  milk, 
each  covered  by  a  plate,  and  purrs  his  matinal  content- 
ment. The  widow  follows  in  a  tulle  cap  and  front  of 
false  hair  set  on  awry,  her  slippers  flapping  as  she 
walks  slip-shod  across  the  room.  Her  faded  and  flabby 
cheeks,  from  which  projects  a  nose  like  the  beak  of  a 
parrot,  her  fat  hands  and  plump  person,  with  its  bust 
too  plump  and  undulating  visibly,  are  all  in  keeping 
with  that  room,  where  misfortune  oozes  from  the  very 
walls,  and  greed  crouches  in  the  corners,  and  whose 
fetid  air  its  owner  breathes  without  sickening.  Her 
face,  chilling  as  the  first  frosts  of  autumn,  her  eyes  and 
wrinkled  brows  changing  in  expression  from  the  hollow 
smile  of  an  actress  to  the  grasping  frown  of  a  money- 
lender,—  all  express  the  character  of  her  pension,  just 
as  the  pension  itself  implies  its  mistress.  The  pasty 
plumpness  of  this  woman  is  the  unwholesome  out-come 
of  her  life,  as  pysmia  is  the  product  of  the  exhalations 
of  a  hospital.  Her  knitted  worsted  skirt  drops  below 
a  petticoat  made  out  of  an  old  gown,  of  which  the  wad- 
ding shows  through  gaps  in  the  worn  covering :  it 
sums  up  to  the  eye  the  salon,  the  dining-room,  and  the 
tiny  garden,  and  gives  an  inkling  of  the  cookery  and 
the  character  of  the  guests. 

About  fifty  years  of  age  at  the  time  of  which  we 
write,  Madame  Vauquer  looked  as  women  commonly 
look  who  tell  you  they  have  seen  better  days.  Her 
eyes  were  light  and  glassy,  and  could  take  on  the  inno- 
cent expression  of  one  who  would  serve  an  evil  pur- 
pose and  make  her  innocence  raise  the  price  of  it ;  a 
woman  who,  to  better  her  own  condition,  would  betray 
Georges  or  Pichegru,  if  Georges  and  Pichegru  still  had 


10  Pere  Goriot. 

a  market  value.  And  yet,  —  "after  all,  she  is  a  good 
creature"  is  the  set  phrase  with  which  her  lodgers 
speak  of  her ;  for,  as  she  goes  moaning  and  coughing 
about  the  house,  they  take  her  to  be  as  poor  as  they 
are  themselves.  But  how  about  Monsieur  Vauquer? 
Madame  has  never  given  any  information  concerning 
her  late  husband.  How  did  he  lose  his  fortune  ?  By 
reverses,  she  implies.  He  had  not  been  a  good  hus- 
band; he  had  left  her  nothing  but  her  eyes  to  weep 
with  and  this  house  to  live  in,  and  the  privilege  of  hav- 
ing no  pity  to  give  to  others,  because,  so  she  said,  she 
had  already  suffered  as  much  as  it  was  possible  for  her 
to  bear. 

When  Sylvie,  the  fat  cook,  hears  her  mistress  in  the 
dining-room,  she  knows  that  it  is  time  to  serve  up 
breakfast  to  those  lodgers  who  are  inmates  of  the 
house.  The  table  guests  usually  come  only  for  dinner, 
which  costs  them  thirty  francs  a  month.  When  this 
story  opens,  there  are  but  seven  lodgers.  The  first  floor, 
—  that  is,  the  floor  up  one  flight  of  stairs,  —  contained 
the  two  best  suites  of  rooms.  Madame  Vauquer  lived 
in  the  smaller  of  these;  the  other  was  occupied  by 
Madame  Couture,  widow  of  a  paymaster  in  the  army 
under  the  French  Republic.  Living  with  her  was  a 
young  girl  named  Victorine  Taillefer,  whom  she  treated 
as  a  daughter :  the  board  of  these  ladies  amounted  to 
eighteen  hundred  francs  a  year.  The  two  suites  on 
the  second  floor  were  taken,  one  by  an  old  gentleman 
named  Poiret ;  the  other  by  a  man  of  forty,  who  wore 
a  black  wig,  dyed  his  whiskers,  said  he  was  in  business, 
and  called  himself  Monsieur  Vautrin.  The  third  storey 
was  divided  into  four  single  rooms,  of  which  one  was 


Pere  G-oriot.  11 

occupied  by  an  old  maid  named  Mademoiselle  Michon- 
neau;  and  anotlier  by  an  aged  manufacturer  of  vermi- 
celli and  other  Italian  pastes,  who  allowed  himself  to 
be  called  Pere  Goriot.1  The  two  remaining  chambers 
were  kept  for  birds  of  passage,  who,  like  Pere  Goriot 
and  Mademoiselle  Michonnean,  could  only  afford  to 
pay  forty-five  francs  a  month  for  board  and  lodging. 
But  Madame  Vauquer  was  not  desirous  of  such  guests, 
and  only  took  them  when  she  could  do  no  better ;  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  their  appetites  made  them  unprofit- 
able. At  this  time  one  of  these  rooms  was  occupied 
by  a  young  man  who  had  come  to  Paris  to  study  law 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Angoulerne,  where  his  family 
were  practising  the  strictest  economy  to  provide  him 
with  the  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year  which  enabled 
him  to  live. 

Eugene  de  Rastignac  —  such  was  his  name  —  was 
one  of  that  targe  class  of  young  men  taught  to  work  by 
sheer  necessity ;  men  who  understand  from  infancy 
the  hopes  their  parents  place  upon  them,  and  who  pre- 
pare for  success  in  life  by  directing  all  their  studies  to 
fit  them  to  take  advantage  of  the  future  set  of  the  cur- 
rent, and  thus  be  among  the  first  to  profit  by  any  on- 
ward movement  of  society.  Unless  we  were  aided  by 
this  young  man's  powers  of  observation,  and  by  the 
address  which  enabled  him  to  make  his  way  in  the 
great  world,  this  story  could  not  have  been  colored  to 
the  life,  as  we  now  hope  it  mav  be,  owing  to  his  sagacity 
and  his  perseverance  in  penetrating  the  mysteries  of  a 

1  Pere  (pronounced  like  the  fruit,  pear ;  Pear  Gorio,  —  the  t 
not  sounded),  used  in  this  manner,  implies  "Old  Goriot,"  rather 
than  its  exact  meaning,  "father." 


12  Pere  Goriot. 

terrible  situation,  —  mysteries  carefully  concealed  both 
by  those  who  created  them,  and  by  him  who  was  their 
victim. 

Above  the  third  storey  was  a  loft  where  clothes  were 
dried,  and  two  attic  rooms,  in  one  of  which  slept  a  man 
of  all  work  named  Christophe,  and  in  the  other  Sylvie, 
the  fat  cook.  Besides  her  regular  house-lodgers, 
Madame  Vauquer  usually  had,  one  year  with  another, 
about  eight  students  of  law  and  medicine,  and  two  or 
three  habitues  of  the  neighborhood,  all  of  whom  came 
to  dinner  only.  The  dining-room  could  seat  eighteen 
persons  comfortably,  and  squeeze  in  twenty.  In  the 
mornings,  however,  there  were  but  seven  to  breakfast, 
—  a  circumstance  which  made  that  meal  seem  a  family 
affair.  Every  one  came  down  in  slippers,  confidential 
observations  were  exchanged  concerning  the  dress  and 
manners  of  the  dinner  guests,  and  comments  were  made 
on  the  events  of  the  previous  evening  with  all  the  free- 
dom of  intimacy.  The  seven  lodgers  were  supposed 
to  be  in  especial  favor  with  Madame  Vauquer,  who 
meted  out  to  them  with  the  precision  of  an  astronomer 
their  just  dues  of  care  and  consideration,  based  on  the 
arithmetic  of  their  board-bills.  The  same  standard 
governed  the  intercourse  of  the  guests  with  each  other, 
although  mere  chance,  poor  waifs,  had  thrown  them 
here  together. 

The  two  lodgers  on  the  second  floor  paid  seventy- 
two  francs  a  month.  This  extremely  cheap  board, 
which  could  have  been  found  only  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Marcel,  betAveen  La  Bourbe  and  the  Salpetriere, 
and  to  which  Madame  Couture  made  the  sole  excep- 
tion, gave  sufficient  proof  that  every  inhabitant  of  that 


Pere  Goriot.  13 

house  was  weighted  with  the  cares  of  poverty.  In  fact, 
the  wretchedness  of  the  whole  place  was  reflected  in 
the  shabby  dress  of  its  inmates.  All  the  men  wore 
frock-coats  of  an  uncertain  color,  frayed  linen,  thread- 
bare trousers,  and  boots  or  shoes  which  would  have 
been  flung  away  in  the  more  prosperous  parts  of  the 
city.  The  gowns  of  the  women  were  shabby,  dyed, 
and  faded,  their  lace  darned,  their  gloves  shiny  from 
long  service,  their  collars  soiled,  and  t\\c\v  fichus  frayed 
at  the  edges.  Such  were  the  clothes  they  wore,  and 
yet  the  wearers  themselves  looked  sound  ;  their  consti- 
tutions appeared  to  have  resisted  the  storms  of  life ; 
their  cold,  hard,  washed-out  countenances  resembled 
the  effigy  on  a  well-worn  silver  coin  ;  their  withered 
lips  covered  teeth  still  keen.  They  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  having  had,  or  having  still,  a  share  in  some  life- 
drama;  not  a  drama  acted  before  the  foot-lights  amid 
painted  scenery,  but  a  drama  of  life  itself,  dumb,  icy, 
yet  living,  and  acted  with  throbbing  hearts,  —  a  drama 
going  on,  and  on,  without  conclusion. 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  was  in  the  habit  of  wear- 
ing a  dingy  green-silk  shade  over  her  weak  eyes,  —  a 
shade  stiffened  by  a  wire  rim,  which  must  have  scared 
the  very  Angel  of  Pity.  Her  shawl,  with  its  melan- 
choly mangy  fringes,  seemed  wrapped  about  a  skeleton. 
What  drop  of  acid  in  her  cup  of  life  had  deprived  this 
forlorn  creature  of  all  feminine  lines  of  grace?  She 
must  have  had  them  once.  Plad  she  lost  them  through 
her  faults,  her  sorrows,  her  cupidity  ?  Had  she  once 
loved,  —  not  wisely  ?  Was  she  expiating  the  insolent 
triumphs  of  her  youth  by  a  despised  old  age?  Her 
blank  gaze  chilled  you  ;  her  sapless  features  made  you 


14  Pere  Croriot. 

shudder ;  her  voice  was  like  that  of  a  cricket  in  the 
bushes,  lamenting  shrilly  the  approach  of  winter.  She 
said  that  she  had  once  taken  care  of  an  old  gentleman 
afflicted  with'  an  incurable  disease,  who  had  been  cast 
off  by  his  children  under  the  belief  that  he  had  no 
property.  The  old  man,  however,  had  saved  money, 
and  left  her  an  annuity  of  a  thousand  francs,  which 
his  heirs-at-law  disputed  at  every  payment,  reviving 
scandals  of  which  she  was  the  object.  Though  the 
play  of  passions  had  seared  her  face,  she  retained  some 
slight  traces  of  past  beauty,  and  also  a  certain  delicacy 
of  complexion  which  allowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  her 
form  still  kept  a  fragment  of  its  charm. 

Monsieur  Poiret  was  a  species  of  automaton.  Had 
you  seen  him  flitting  like  a  gray  ghost  through  the 
alleys  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  a  shapeless  cap  on 
his  head,  his  cane  with  its  discolored  ivory  knob 
dangling  from  his  limp  hand,  his  faded  coat  flying 
loose,  disclosing  to  view  breeches  which  seemed  well- 
nigh  empty,  lank  legs  in  blue  stockings  which  quav- 
ered like  those  of  a  drunkard,  a  dirty  white  waistcoat, 
and  a  crumpled  shirl-front  of  coarse  cotton  which 
barely  met  the  old  cravat  twisted  about  a  neck  as  long 
and  wrinkled  as  a  turkey's,  —  you  might  indeed  have 
asked  if  this  spectral  figure  could  belong  to  the  gay 
race  of  those  sons  of  Japhet  who  sunned  themselves 
like  butterflies  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens.  What 
occupation  in  life  could  have  shrunk  the  makings  of  a 
man  to  this?  What  passions  had  blotched  that  bul- 
bous face  which  caricature  itself  could  not  exaggerate  ? 
What  had  he  been  ?  Well,  possibly  a  clerk  of  the  De- 
partment of  Justice,  — in  that  office  where  they  keep 


Pere  Goriot.  15 

the  record  of  moneys  spent  on  the  black  veils  of  par- 
ricides, or  bran  for  the  baskets  of  the  guillotine,  and 
count  the  cost  of  pack-thread  to  hold  the  blades  in 
place.  Could  he  have  been  the  receiver  of  beasts  at  a 
slaughterhouse;  or  a  sub-inspector  of  public  health  and 
sewers  ?  Whatever  his  occupation,  he  was  surely  one 
of  the  asses  which  are  used  to  turn  the  mill  of  our  sys- 
tem of  civilization  ;  a  pivot  round  which  had  once  re- 
volved the  misfortunes  and  impurities  of  society;  a 
being  of  whom  we  say,  in  vulgar  formula,  "It  takes  all 
sorts  to  make  a  world."  Gay  Paris  has  no  eye  for  faces 
pale  through  physical  or  moral  wretchedness.  But 
Paris  is  an  ocean  ;  heave  your  lead,  and  you  will  never 
find  the  bottom.  Fathom  it,  describe  it,  —  yet  how- 
ever carefully  you  search,  however  minutely  you  de- 
scribe, however  numerous  may  be  your  explorations, 
there  will  remain  some  virgin  region,  some  unsuspected 
cavern  in  the  depths,  where  flowers  or  pearls  or  hid- 
eous sea-monsters  still  lie  safe,  undiscovered  by  the 
divers  of  literature.  The  Maison  Vauquer  is  one  of 
these  hidden  monsters. 

Two  figures  stand  out  in  striking  contrast  to  the 
rest  of  the  household.  Though  Mademoiselle  Victor- 
ine  Taillefer  was  of  a  sickly  paleness  like  a  girl  in 
feeble  health,  and  though  this  paleness,  joined  to  an 
habitual  expression  of  sadness  and  self-restraint,  linked 
her  with  the  general  misery  which  formed  the  back- 
ground of  the  life  about  her,  yet  her  face  was  not  an 
old  face,  and  her  movements  and  her  voice  were  young 
and  sprightly.  She  seemed  like  a  sickly  shrub  trans- 
planted into  uncongenial  soil.  Her  fair  complexion, 
her  auburn  hair,  her  too-slender  figure,  gave  her  the 


16  Pere  Goriot. 

grace  which  modern  critics  find  in  the  art  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  Her  eyes,  which  were  gray  with  a  radiation 
of  dark  streaks,  expressed  the  sweetness  and  resigna- 
tion of  a  Christian.  Her  dress  was  simple  and  cheap, 
but  it  revealed  a  youthful  shape.  She  was  pretty  by 
juxtaposition.  Had  she  been  happy  she  might  have 
been  lovely ;  for  happiness  lends  poetic  charm  to 
women,  and  dress  adorns  them  like  a  delicate  tinge  of 
rouge.  If  the  pleasures  of  a  ball  had  called  out  the 
rose-tints  on  her  pallid  face;  if  the  comforts  and  elegan- 
cies of  life  had  filled  out  and  remodelled  her  cheeks, 
already,  alas !  too  hollow ;  if  love  had  ever  brightened 
her  sad  eyes,  —  then  Victorine  might  have  held  her  own 
among  the  fairest  of  her  sex  and  age.  She  needed 
two  things,  —  two  things  which  are  the  second  birth  of 
women,  —  the  pretty  trifles  of  her  sex,  and  the  shy 
delight  of  love-letters.  The  poor  girl's  story  told  at 
length  would  fill  a  volume.  Her  father  believed  that 
he  had  reasons  for  not  acknowledging  her  ;  he  refused 
to  let  her  live  with  him,  and  only  gave  her  six  hundred 
francs  a  year  for  her  support ;  moreover  he  had  arranged 
to  leave  his  fortune  wholly  to  his  son.  Madame  Couture 
was  a  distant  relative  of  Victorine's  mother,  who  had 
died  of  sorrow  in  her  arms ;  and  she  had  brought  up 
the  little  orphan  as  her  own.  Unfortunately,  the 
widow  of  a  paymaster  in  the  army  of  the  French 
Republic  had  nothing  but  her  dower  and  her  pension. 
The  time  might  come  when  she  would  have  to  leave 
the  poor  girl,  without  money  or  experience,  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  a  cruel  world.  The  good  woman 
took  Victorine  to  mass  every  Sunday,  and  to  confession 
twice  a  month,  hoping  to  prepare  her  for  the  chances 


Pere  Goriot.  17 

of  her  fate  by  making  her  a  pious  woman.  She  was 
right ;  this  cast-off  daughter  might  come  to  find  in  her 
religion  a  refuge  and  a  home.  Meantime  poor  Victor- 
ine  loved  her  lather,  and  once  a  year  she  went  to  his 
house  to  assure  him  of  the  dying  forgiveness  ^>f  her 
mother.  In  vain  she  knocked  at  that  closed  door ;  it 
was  inexorably  shut.  Pier  brother,  who  alone  could 
have  interceded  in  her  behalf,  neglected  her,  and  gave 
her  neither  sympathy  nor  succor.  She  prayed  to 
God  to  enlighten  the  eyes  of  her  father  and  to  soften 
the  heart  of  her  brother  ;  but  her  prayers  conveyed 
no  reproach.  When  Madame  Couture  and  Madame 
Vauquer  strove  for  words  to  characterize  this  barbar- 
ous conduct,  and  loaded  the  millionaire  with  abuse, 
Victorine  interposed  her  gentle  remonstrance  like  the 
cry  of  the  wounded  wood-pigeon,  whose  note  of  suffer- 
ing is  still  the  note  of  love. 

Eugene  de  Rastignac  had  a  face  altogether  of  the 
sunny  south,  —  a  pure  skin,  black  hair,  and  blue  eyes. 
His  bearing,  his  manners,  his  habitual  attitudes,  marked 
him  as  belonging  to  a  good  family,  where  his  earliest 
training  must  have  been  in  accordance  with  the  tradi- 
tions of  high  birth.  If  ordinarily  he  was  careful  of  his 
clothes,  wearing  on  working-days  coats  of  a  past  fashion, 
he  always  dressed  with  care  and  elegance  when  he 
went  into  the  world.  At  other  times  he  appeared 
in  an  old  frock-coat,  an  old  waistcoat,  a  shabby  black 
cravat  tied  in  a  wisp  after  the  manner  of  students, 
trousers  out  of  shape,  and  boots  resoled. 

Between  these  two  young  people  and  the  rest  of  the 
household  Vautrin  —  the  man  of  forty,  with  dyed  whis- 
kers —  formed  a  connecting  link.  He  was  one  of  those 
2 


18  Pere  Goriot. 

whom  people  choose  to  call  "  a  jolly  fellow ! "  He  had 
broad  shoulders,  a  deep  chest,  muscles  well  developed, 
and  strong  square  hands,  the  knuckles  marked  by  tufts 
of  red  hair.  His  face,  prematurely  furrowed,  showed 
signs  of  a  hard  nature  not  in  keeping  with  his  com- 
pliant and  cordial  manners ;  but  his  strong  barytone 
voice,  which  harmonized  with  his  boisterous  gayety,  was 
not  unpleasing.  He  was  obliging  and  always  cheerful. 
If  a  lock  were  out  of  order  he  would  unscrew  it,  mend 
it,  oil  it,  file  it,  and  put  it  on  again,  saying,  "  Oh,  I  know 
how  ! "  In  fact  he  knew  something  about  many  things ; 
about  ships,  the  sea,  France,  foreign  countries,  business, 
public  events,  men,  laws,  hotels,  prisons.  If  any  one 
complained  of  hard  luck,  Vautrin  offered  his  services. 
Several  times  he  had  lent  money  to  Madame  Vauquer, 
and  even  to  her  guests ;  and  these  creditors  would  have 
died  sooner  than  not  repay  him,  for  in  spite  of  his  ap- 
parent good  temper  there  was  a  keen  and  resolute  ex- 
pression in  his  eye  which  inspired  them  with  fear.  His 
very  method  of  spitting  marked  his  imperturbable  sang- 
froid, —  the  sang-froid  which  shrinks  from  no  crime  to 
escape  personal  difficulty  or  danger.  A  stern  judge, 
his  keen  eye  pierced  to  the  core  of  all  questions,  into 
all  consciences,  and  even  into  the  depths  of  all  feelings. 
His  custom  was  to  go  out  after  breakfast,  to  come 
home  to  dinner,  to  be  off  again  for  the  whole  evening, 
and  to  get  in  late  at  night  with  a  latch-key  which 
Madame  Vauquer  intrusted  to  him  alone.  He  was  on 
the  best  terms  with  his  landlady,  calling  her  "  Mamma 
Vauquer,"  and  catching  her  affectionately  round  the 
waist,  —  a  flattery  not  understood  on  its  real  merits,  for 
the  widow  believed  it  an  easy  feat,  whereas  Vautrin 


Pere  G-oriot.  19 

was  the  only  man  in  the  house  whose  arms  were  long 
enough  to  encircle  that  solid  circumference.  One  trait 
of  his  character  was  to  pay  lavishly  fifteen  francs  a 
month  for  the  gloria  (coffee  with  brandy  in  it)  which 
he  took  at  dessert.  People  less  superficial  than  those 
about  him,  who  were  chiefly  young  men  carried  away  by 
the  whirl  of  life  in  the  great  city,  or  old  men  indifferent 
to  all  that  did  not  touch  them  personally,  would  have 
examined  into  the  doubts  with  which  Vautrin  inspired 
them.  He  knew,  or  guessed,  the  private  affairs  of  every 
one  about  him  ;  yet  no  one  knew  anything  of  his,  nor 
of  his  thoughts  and  occupations.  He  set  up  his  good 
humor,  his  obligingness,  and  his  unfailing  gayety  as  a 
barrier  between  himself  and  others ;  but  through  it 
gleamed  from  time  to  time  alarming  flashes  of  his  hid- 
den nature.  Sometimes  a  saying  worthy  of  Juvenal  es- 
caped his  lips,  as  if  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  scout  at  law, 
to  lash  society,  or  drag  to  light  its  inconsistencies;  as 
if  he  cherished  some  grudge  against  the  cause  of  order, 
or  hid  some  mystery  in  the  dark  recesses  of  his  life. 

Attracted,  unconsciously,  by  the  strength  of  one  man 
and  the  beauty  of  the  other,  Mademoiselle  Taillefer 
divided  her  shy  glances  and  her  secret  thoughts  between 
the  man  of  forty  and  the  law  student.  Neither  of 
them  appeared  to  take  notice  of  her,  although  her  posi- 
tion might  at  any  time  undergo  a  change  which  would 
make  her  a  match  worth  looking  after.  None  of 
Madame  Vauquer's  guests  were  at  much  pains  to  in- 
quire into  the  misfortunes  which  their  co-inmates 
claimed  to  have  suffered.  Profound  indifference,  min- 
gled with  distrust,  was  the  upshot  of  their  relations  to 
each  other.  They  knew  they  had  no  help  to  offer: 


20  Pcre  G-oriot. 

each  had  heard  the  tale  of  sorrows  till  their  cup  of  con- 
solation held  nothing  but  the  dregs.  Like  old  married 
couples,  they  had  nothing  more  to  say  to  one  another; 
their  daily  intercourse  was  now  mechanical ;  the  fric- 
tion of  machinery  unoiled.  All  could  pass  a  blind  man 
in  the  street  without  looking  at  him,  or  listen,  un- 
touched, to  a  tale  of  woe  ;  death  was  for  them  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  of  poverty,  and  they  stood  coldly 
beside  its  bitterest  agony.  The  happiest  among  these 
hapless  beings  was  Madame  Vauquer  herself,  the  ruler 
of  this  asylum  for  broken  lives.  To  her  the  little  garden, 
arid  as  a  steppe,  chill,  silent,  dusty,  humid,  was  a  smiling 
pleasure-ground.  To  her  the  dismal  yellow  house,  which 
smelt  of  the  corrosions  of  life,  had  its  delights.  Its 
dungeon  cells  belonged  to  her.  She  fed  the  prisoners 
who  lived  in  them,  —  prisoners  sentenced  to  hard 
labor  for  life, —  and  she  knew  how  to  make  her  au- 
thority respected.  Indeed,  as  she  said  to  herself,  where 
could  these  people  find  elsewhere  in  Paris,  at  so  low  a 
price,  food  that  was  as  wholesome  and  as  plentiful  as 
that  which  she  gave  them  ?  Each  had  his  own  room 
which  he  was  free  to  keep  sweet  and  clean,  if  he  could 
not  make  it  elegant  or  comfortable.  They  knew  this 
well  themselves,  and  had  she  been  guilty  of  even  cry- 
ing injustice  her  victims  would  have  borne  it  without 
complaint. 

Such  a  household  might  be  expected  to  offer,  and 
did  offer,  in  miniature,  the  elements  of  a  complete  so- 
ciety. Among  the  eighteen  inmates,  there  was,  as  may 
be  seen  in  schools  or  in  the  great  world,  one  repulsed 
and  rejected  creature,  —  a  souffre-douleur,  the  butt  of 
jests  and  ridicule.  At  the  beginning  of  his  second 


Pere.  G-oriot.  21 

year,  this  figure  became  to  Eugene  de  Rastignac  the 
must  prominent  of  those  among  whom  necessity  com- 
pelled him  to  live.  This  pariah  of  the  household  was 
the  old  paste-maker,  Pere  Goriot,  upon  whose  head  a 
painter  would  have  cast,  as  the  historian  casts,  all  the 
light  of  the  picture.  How  came  this  scorn  dashed 
with  a  tinge  of  hate,  this  persecution  mixed  with  a 
passing  pity,  this  insolence  towards  misfortune,  to  fall 
upon  the  oldest  member  of  the  pension  ?  Had  he  pro- 
voked such  treatment  by  oddities  and  absurdities  less 
easily  forgiven  by  his  fellows  than  actual  vice  ?  These 
are  questions  which  bear  closely  on  many  an  instance 
of  social  injustice.  Human  nature  is  hard  on  those 
who  suffer  humbly  from  a  consciousness  that  they  are 
too  feeble  to  resist,  or  wearily  indifferent  to  their  fate. 
Do  we  not  all  like  to  test  our  power  by  woi'king  our 
will  on  something  or  on  somebody  ?  The  weakest  of 
beings,  the  ragged  street-boy,  rings  our  door-bell  and 
runs  away,  or  climbs  some  monument  to  scratch  his 
name  upon  the  unsullied  marble. 


22  Pere  Goriot. 


II. 


IN  1818,  Pere  Goriot,  then  about  sixty-two  years 
of  age,  came  to  live  at  Madame  Vauquer's,  having, 
as  he  said,  given  up  business.  He  took  the  apart- 
ment afterwards  occupied  by  Madame  Couture,  paying 
twelve  hundred  francs  a  year,  like  a  man  to  whom  five 
louis  more  or  less  was  of  little  consequence.  Madame 
Vauquer  fitted  up  at  his  expense  the  three  rooms  of 
this  suite  for  a  sum  which  just  repaid  her,  she  said,  for 
the  outlay.  They  were  miserably  furnished  with  yel- 
low cotton  curtains,  chairs  of  painted  pine  covered  with 
worsted  velvet,  and  a  few  worthless  colored  prints  upon 
the  walls,  which  were  hung  with  papers  rejected,  one 
might  suppose,  by  the  wineshops  of  the  suburbs.  Per- 
haps the  careless  liberality  shown  in  this  transaction 
by  Pore  Goriot,  who  at  that  period  was  respectfully 
called  Monsieur  Goriot,  caused  his  landlady  to  consider 
him  as  a  simpleton  who  knew  little  of  business. 

Goriot  brought  with  him  a  well-furnished  wardrobe, 
suitable  for  a  rich  tradesman  who  on  retiring  from 
business  could  afford  to  make  himself  comfortable. 
Madame  Vauquer  especially  admired  eighteen  linen 
shirts  of  the  best  quality,  to  which  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  two  pins  worn  on  his  shirt-frill  and  united 
by  a  chain,  in  each  of  which  shone  a  large  diamond. 
The  old  man  usually  wore  a  light-blue  coat,  and  he 


Pere  Goriot.  23 

put  on  a  clean  white  waistcoat  every  day,  beneath 
which  rose  and  fell  his  portly  stomach,  upheaving  as 
he  breathed  a  thick  gold  chain  adorned  with  seals  and 
charms.  His  snuff-box  was  of  gold,  with  a  medallion 
on  the  cover  containing  hair,  which  created  a  suspicion 
of  bonnes  fortunes ;  and  when  Madame  Vauquer  ac- 
cused him  of  gallantry,  the  complacent  smile  of  a  man 
whose  vanity  is  tickled  flickered  on  his  lips.  His 
closets,  ses  armoires  (he  pronounced  the  word  ormoires 
after  the  manner  of  common  people),  were  full  of  sil- 
ver plate,  the  relics  of  his  housekeeping.  The  widow's 
eyes  sparkled  when  she  helped  him  to  unpack  and 
arrange  these  treasures,  —  ladles,  forks,  and  spoons; 
castors,  sauce-boats,  dishes,  and  a  breakfast  service  in 
silver  gilt,  the  various  pieces  weighing  many  ounces, 
all  of  which  he  had  been  unwilling  to  part  with  on 
breaking  up  his  home,  many  of  them  recalling  events 
which  were  sacred  in  his  family  history.  "  This,"  he 
said  to  Madame  Vauquer  as  he  put  away  a  dish  and 
porringer,  on  the  cover  of  which  were  two  turtle-doves 
fondling  each  other  with  their  beaks,  "was  the  first 
gift  my  wife  made  me.  She  gave  it  to  me  on  the  an- 
niversary of  our  wedding-day.  Poor  dear !  it  cost  her 
all  the  little  money  she  had  saved  up  before  our  mar- 
riage. Ah !  Madame,  I  would  rather  scratch  a  living 
with  my  nails  out  of  the  ground  than  part  with  that 
porringer ;  but,  thank  God !  I  can  drink  my  coffee  out 
of  it  as  long  as  I  live.  I  am  not  badly  off:  I  have 
plenty  of  bread  baked,  as  they  say,  for  some  time  to 
come." 

In  addition  to  this,  Madame  Vauquer's  prying  eyes 
had  seen  a  certain   entry  in  what  is  called  the  great 


24  Pere  G-oriot. 

book,  le  grand  livre,  —  that  is,  the  list  of  those  who 
have  money  in  the  state  funds,  —  from  which,  roughly 
calculated,  it  was  evident  that  the  worthy  Goriot  had 
an  income  of  eight  to  ten  thousand  francs.  From  that 
moment  Madame  Vauquer,  nee  de  Conflans,  who  was 
then  forty-eight  years  old,  and  owned  to  thirty-nine, 
nourished  a  dream  of  ambition.  Though  Monsieur 
Goriot's  eyelids  were  swollen,  and  an  obstruction  of 
the  tear-passage  caused  him  to  wipe  his  eyes  fre- 
quently, she  thought  his  person  agreeable  and  his 
manners  comme-il-faut.  Moreover,  the  stout  calves  of 
his  legs,  and  even  his  long  square  nose,  seemed  to  her 
to  denote  points  of  character  which  suited  her  inten- 
tions ;  and  this  opinion  was  confirmed  by  the  round- 
ness of  his  face  and  the  naif  silliness  of  its  expression. 
She  put  him  down  for  a  sturdy  fool,  whose  mind  ran 
to  sentiment,  and  who  could  be  led  by  his  feelings 
in  any  direction.  His  hair,  which  he  wore  in  "  pigeon- 
wings,"  ailes  de  pigeon,  —  that  is  to  say,  drawn  low 
over  the  ears  and  tied  behind  in  a  queue,  — was  dressed 
and  powdered  daily  by  the  hair-dresser  of  the  Ecole 
Polytechnique,  who  arranged  five  points  on  his  low 
forehead,  which  she  thought  very  becoming.  Thouo-h 
somewhat  uncouth  in  manner,  he  was  always  spick  and 
span  in  his  dress,  and  took  snuff  with  so  opulent  an 
air,  scattering  it  liberally  as  if  confident  the  box  would 
be  always  full  of  the  very  best,  that  the  night  after  his 
arrival  Madame  Vauquer  went  to  bed  turning  over  in 
her  mind  a  project  for  shuffling  off  the  shroud  of  Vau- 
quer and  coming  to  life  again  as  Madame  Goriot.  To 
be  married  ;  to  get  rid  of  her  pension;  to  have  the  arm 
of  this  high  flower  of  bourgeoisie ;  to  become  a  nota- 


Pere  Croriot.  25 

bility  in  her  own  quarter;  to  queter  ^collect  money)  for 
the  poor;  to  make  up  little  parties  for  Sunday  jaunts 
to  Choisy,  Soissy,  or  Gentilly ;  to  go  to  the  play  when 
she  liked,  and  sit  in  a  box  she  should  pay  for,  instead 
of  waiting  for  free  passes  given  to  her  occasionally  and 
only  in  July, — in  short,  all  the  Eldorado  of  Parisian 
lower-class  middle-life  seemed  possible  for  her  if  she 
married  Monsieur  Goriot.  She  had  never  told  any  one 
that  she  had  forty  thousand  francs  laid  by,  scraped 
together  sou  by  sou.  Thus  she  was  an  equal  match 
for  the  worthy  man  in  point  of  fortune;  and  "as 
to  everything  else,  I  am  quite  as  good  as  he,"  she 
reflected,  turning  over  in  her  bed,  where  the  fat 
Sylvie  found  every  morning  the  impress  of  her  fair 
form. 

From  that  day,  and  for  about  three  months,  Madame 
Vauquer  employed  the  hair-dresser  of  Monsieur  Goriot 
and  made  some  improvements  in  her  toilette,  which 
she  explained  by  the  necessity  of  keeping  the  decorum 
of  her  house  on  a  level  with  the  distinguished  people 
who  frequented  it.  She  did  her  best  to  make  the  pen- 
sion select,  by  giving  out  that  henceforth  she  would 
admit  no  one  who  had  not  some  special  pretentious  to 
gentility.  If  a  stranger  came  to  inspect  the  rooms,  he 
was  made  aware  of  the  preference  which  Monsieur 
Goriot  —  "  one  of  the  most  distinguished  and  respect- 
able men  of  business  in  Paris  "  —  had  given  to  the  es- 
tablishment. She  sent  out  a  prospectus  headed  MAISON 
VAUQUER.  "  It  was,"  she  stated,  "  one  of  the  oldest 
and  best  patronized  pensions  bourgeoises  in  the  Latin 
quarter.  It  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  valley  of 
the  Gobelins  "  (seen  from  one  window  in  the  third 


26  Pere  Goriot. 

storey),  and  had  a  lovely  garden,  at  the  end  of  which 
stretched  an  Avenue  of  Lindens."  She  concluded  by 
extolling  its  pure  air  and  the  quiet  of  its  retired  situa- 
tion. This  prospectus  brought  her  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse  de  1'Ambermesnil,  a  woman  thirty-six  years  of 
age,  who  was  expecting  the  final  settlement  of  the  af- 
fairs of  her  late  husband  and  the  payments  due  to  her 
as  the  widow  of  a  general  officer  who  had  died,  as  she 
phrased  it,  upon  felds  of  battle.  Madame  Vauquer 
now  took  pains  with  her  table,  made  fires  in  the  salon 
and  the  dining-room,  and  justified  her  prospectus  so 
well  that  she  was  actually  out  of  pocket  by  her  liber- 
ality. The  countess  was  so  pleased  that  she  promised 
Madame  Vauquer,  whom  she  called  her  "  dearest 
friend,"  to  bring  to  the  house  the  Baronne  de  Vau- 
merland  and  the  widow  of  Colonel  Piqueoiseau,  two 
of  her  acquaintances  then  living  at  a  pension  in  the 
Marais,  —  an  establishment  more  expensive  than  the 
Maison  Vauquer.  All  these  ladies  expected  to  be  in 
easy  circumstances  when  the  War  Office  made  up  its 
accounts.  "  But,"  as  they  said,  "  government  offices 
keep  you  waiting  so  long !  " 

Madame  de  1'Ambermesnil  used  to  join  Madame 
Vauquer  in  her  private  room  after  dinner,  where  they 
gossipped  over  small  glasses  of  ratifia  and  tit-bits  from 
the  table,  set  aside  for  the  mistress  of  the  house.  The 
countess  much  approved  the  views  of  her  hostess  as  to 
the  alliance  with  Monsieur  Goriot.  The  idea,  she  said, 
was  excellent ;  she  had  planned  it  from  the  moment  of 
her  arrival. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  lady,  he  is  all  a  man  ought  to  be," 
said  the  widow  ;  "  a  man  thoroughly  well  preserved. 


Pere  Goriot.  27 

He  might  make  a  woman  very  happy  for  several  years 
to  come." 

The  countess  was  not  chary  of  her  criticisms  on 
Madame  Vauquer's  dress,  which  harmonized  ill  with 
her  intentions.  "You  must  put  yourself  on  a  war- 
footing,"  she  said. 

After  much  consultation  the  two  widows  repaired  to 
the  Palais  Royal,  where,  in  the  Galeries  de  Bois,  they 
bought  a  hat,  and  a  bonnet  with  many  feathers.  Then 
the  countess  enticed  her  friend  to  the  famous  shop 
called  La  Petite  Jeannette,  where  they  chose  a  dress 
and  mantle.  When  these  preparations  were  made,  and 
the  widow  was  fairly  under  arms,  she  looked  a  good 
deal  like  the  figure  on  a  sign-board  of  the  Boeuf  a  la 
Mode.  However,  she  thought  herself  so  changed  for 
the  better,  and  so  much  indebted  to  her  friend,  that, 
though  naturally  stingy,  she  begged  her  acceptance  of 
a  hat  costing  twenty  francs.  It  is  true  she  expected 
in  return  her  good  offices  with  Monsieur  Goriot,  and 
asked  her  to  sound  him  as  to  his  views.  Madame  de 
l'Ainbermesnil  was  quite  ready  to  undertake  the  nego- 
tiation, and  got  round  the  old  gentleman  so  far  as  to 
bring  him  to  a  conference  ;  from  which,  however,  find- 
ing him  shy  —  not  to  say  refractory  —  when  she  made 
advances  to  him  (on  her  own  account),  she  came  away 
disgusted,  and  pronounced  him  a  mere  boor. 

"  My  angel,"  she  said  to  her  dear  friend,  U  you  will 
never  make  anything  of  that  man.  He  is  a  miser,  a 
fool,  a  perfect  wretch,  who  will  give  you  nothing  but 
annoyance." 

Whatever  may  have  taken  place  between  Madame 
de  I'Ambermesnil  and  Monsieur  Goriot,  the  result  of 


28  P£re  Goriot. 

the  interview  was  that  the  former  declared  she  would 
not  remain  in  the  house  with  him.  The  next  morning 
she  went  off,  forgetting  to  pay  her  bill,  and  leaving 
nothing  behind  her  but  a  parcel  of  old  clothes  to  the 
value  of  five  francs ;  and  although  Madame  Vauquer 
did  her  best  to  get  upon  her  traces,  she  could  never 
discover  in  all  Paris  the  smallest  sign  of  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  1'Ambermesnil. 

She  often  alluded  to  this  trying  affair,  and  invariably 
blamed  herself  for  her  rash  confidence  in  human  nature, 
though  she  was  in  reality  more  distrustful  than  a  cat 
in  her  dealings  with  her  fellow-men.  But  like  many 
other  people,  while  suspecting  those  about  her,  she  fell 
an  easv  prey  to  persons  she  did  not  know,  —  a  curious 
and  contradictory  fact ;  but  the  root  of  its  paradox 
will  be  found  in  the  human  heart.  There  are  people 
who  come  at  last  to  perceive  that  they  have  nothing 
more  to  gain  from  those  who  know  them  well.  To 
such  they  have  shown  the  hollowness  of  their  natures ; 
they  know  themselves  judged  and  severely  judged  ;  yet 
so  insatiable  is  their  craving  for  flattery,  so  devouring 
their  desire  to  assume  in  the  eyes  of  others  the  virtues 
which  they  have  not  got,  that  they  court  the  esteem 
and  affection  of  strangers  who  do  not  know  them  and 
therefore  cannot  judge  them,  taking  the  risk  of  losing 
all  such  credit  eventually.  There  is  also  another  class 
of  minds  born  selfish,  who  will  not  do  good  to  friends 
or  neighbors  because  it  is  their  duty  to  do  it,  while  by 
paying  attentions  to  strangers  they  secure  a  return 
of  thanks  and  praise  which  feeds  their  self-love.  The 
nearer  people  stand  to  them  the  less  they  will  do  for 
them ;  widen  the  circle,  and  they  are  more  ready  to 


Pere  G-oriot.  29 

lend  a  helping  hand.  Madame  Vauquer's  nature  was 
allied  to  both  classes ;  it  was  essentially  mean,  false, 
and  sordid. 

"  If  I  had  been  here,"  Vautrin  used  to  say  to  her, 
"  this  would  never  have  happened.  I  'd  have  unmasked 
the  woman  fast  enough.  I  know  their  tricks." 

Like  all  narrow-minded  people,  Madame  Vauquer 
never  looked  beyond  the  limits  of  the  events  around 
her,  nor  troubled  herself  about  their  hidden  causes. 
She  liked  to  blame  others  for  her  own  mistakes.  When 
this  disaster  happened,  she  chose  to  consider  the  old 
vermicelli  maker  as  the  author  of  her  woe,  and  began 
from  that  time  to  get  sober,  as  she  phrased  it  —  to  se 
degriser  —  about  him.  No  sooner  did  she  recognize 
the  inutility  of  her  advances  and  of  her  outlay  upon 
allurements,  than  she  set  up  a  theory  to  account  for  it. 
The  old  man  must,  she  said,  have  liaisons  elsewhere. 
She  admitted  that  the  hopes  she  had  nursed  were  built 
upon  imaginary  foundations;  that  the  countess,  who 
appeared  to  know  what  she  was  talking  about,  was 
right  in  saying  that  nothing  could  be  made  of  such  a 
man.  Of  course  she  went  further  in  hate  than  she  had 
gone  in  friendship,  her  hatred  not  being  the  child  of 
love,  but  of  hopes  disappointed.  If  the  human  heart 
pauses  to  rest  by  the  wayside,  as  it  mounts  to  the  sum- 
mits of  affection,  it  finds  no  stopping-place  when  it 
starts  on  the  down-incline. 

Monsieur  Goriot,  however,  was  her  lodger,  and  the 
widow  was  obliged  to  repress  all  outward  expression  of 
her  wounded  feelings,  to  smother  the  sighs  caused  by 
her  self-deception,  and  to  choke  down  her  desires  for 
vengeance,  like  a  monk  taunted  by  his  superior.  Little 


30  P$re  Goriot. 

minds  vent  their  feelings,  bad  or  good,  in  little  ways. 
The  widow  used  her  woman's  wit  to  invent  subtle  per- 
secutions for  her  victim.  She  began  by  cutting  off  the 
superfluities  of  her  housekeeping.  "  No  more  pickles, 
no  more  anchovies,"  she  said  to  Sylvie  the  morning  she 
went  back  to  the  old  programme  ;  "  pickles  and  ancho- 
vies are  delusions."  Monsieur  Goriot,  however,  was  a 
frugal  man,  habitually  parsimonious,  as  most  men  are 
who  have  saved  up  their  fortunes :  soup,  bouilli,  and 
one  dish  of  vegetables  was,  and  always  had  been,  the 
dinner  he  liked  best ;  so  that  it  was  difficult  for  Madame 
Yauquer  to  annoy  him  by  offending  his  tastes  in  this 
line.  Disheartened  by  her  failure,  she  now  began  to 
treat  him  with  contempt,  and  to  snub  him  before  the 
other  guests,  who,  chiefly  for  amusement,  joined  in  the 
persecution,  and  thus  assisted  her  revenge.  At  the  end 
of  a  year  she  had  pushed  her  ill  opinion  of  him  so  far 
as  to  ask  herself  why  a  man  with  eight  to  ten  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  superb  plate  and  jewelry,  should  live 
in  her  house  and  pay  a  price  so  small  in  proportion  to 
his  fortune  ? 

During  the  greater  part  of  his  first  year  Goriot  had 
dined  out  once  or  twice  a  week ;  then  by  degrees,  only 
once  in  two  weeks.  His  absence  had  suited  Madame 
Vauquer  so  well  that  she  was  displeased  at  the  regu- 
larity with  which  he  now  came  to  his  meals.  This 
change  she  attributed  to  a  falling  off  in  his  means ;  also 
to  a  wish  to  disoblige  her.  One  of  the  despicable 
traits  in  lilliputian  natures  is  their  habit  of  attributing 
their  own  meannesses  to  others.  Unfortunately,  at  the 
end  of  his  second  year  Monsieur  Goriot  confirmed  some 
of  the  gossip  in  circulatiou  by  asking  Madame  Yauquer 


Pere  Goriot.  31 

if  he  could  take  rooms  on  the  second  storey  and  pay 
only  nine  hundred  francs  a  year;  and  he  became  so 
economical  that  he  went  without  a  fire  in  his  room 
all  winter.  The  widow,  under  this  new  arrangement, 
demanded  payment  in  advance,  to  which  Monsieur 
Goriot  consented;  and  from  that  day  forth  she  called 
him  Pere  Goriot.  It  now  became  a  question  with 
the  whole  household,  why  was  he  going  down  in  the 
world?  Difficult  to  answer.  As  the  false  countess 
had  said,  Pere  Goriot  was  reticent  and  sly.  Accord- 
ing to  the  logic  of  empty  heads  who  tattle  because 
they  have  brains  for  nothing  else,  people  who  keep 
their  own  counsel  must  have  something  suspicious  to 
conceal.  The  late  distinguished  man  of  business  now 
sank  into  a  cheat ;  the  elderly  gallant  became  a  dissi- 
pated rogue.  Some,  following  Vautrin  (who  by  this 
time  was  living  at  Madame  Vauquer's),  thought  he 
dabbled  at  the  Bourse,  where,  having  ruined  himself 
by  speculations,  he  now  picked  up  a  few  francs  by 
fleecing  others.  Some  said  he  was  a  petty  gambler 
playing  for  ten  francs  a  night;  others  that  he  was  a 
spy  of  the  police,  though  Vautrin  declared  him  "  not 
deep  enough  for  that"  Then  he  became  a  usurer, 
lending  money  by  the  week  in  small  sums  at  extor- 
tionate interest ;  finally  a  speculator  in  lotteries.  In 
turn,  they  guessed  him  to  be  all  that  vice,  impotence, 
and  trickery  made  most  shameful  and  mysterious. 
Yet,  however  low  his  conduct  or  his  vices,  the  aver- 
sion he  inspired  never  went  so  far  as  to  propose  that 
he  should  leave  the  house.  He  paid  his  board  regu- 
larly. Besides,  in  a  way  they  found  him  useful.  On 
him  they  could  vent  their  good  and  evil  humors  by 


32  P3re 

jests  or  stinging  sarcasms.  The  opinion  generally 
adopted  among  them  was  Madame  Vauquer's.  Ac- 
cording to  her,  the  man  she  had  lately  pronuunced 
"  all  that  he  ought  to  be ;  a  man  who  might  make  a 
woman  happy  for  years  to  come,"  was  a  libertine 
with  extraordinary  tastes. 

Here  are  the  facts  on  which  the  widow  based  her 
calumnies.  Some  months  after  the  departure  of  the 
disastrous  countess  who  had  lived  six  months  at  her 
expense,  she  was  awakened  early  one  morning  by  the 
rustle  of  a  silk  dress  and  the  light  foot-fall  of  a  young 
woman  going  up  to  Goriot's  apartment,  the  outer 
door  of  which  was  left  conveniently  ajar.  A  few 
moments  later,  Sylvie  came  to  tell  her  that  a  "creature 
much  too  pretty  to  be  what  she  ought  to  be,"  dressed 
like  a  goddess,  wearing  prunella  slippers  "  not  even 
dusty,"  had  glided  like  au  eel  from  the  street  to  the 
kitchen,  and  had  asked  her  the  way  to  Monsieur  Gori- 
ot's apartment.  Mistress  and  maid  listened,  and 
caught  several  words  pronounced  in  tender  tones. 
The  visit  lasted  some  time.  When  Monsieur  Goriot 
conducted  his  lady  downstairs,  Sylvie  picked  up  her 
basket  and  pretended  to  be  going  to  market  as  an 
excuse  for  following  them. 

"  Madame,"  she  said  to  her  mistress  when  she  re- 
turned, "  Monsieur  Goriot  must  be  deucedly  rich  to 
carry  matters  in  that  way.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  at 
the  corner  of  the  Estrapade  there  was  a  splendid  car- 
riage waiting,  and  he  put  her  into  it !  " 

That  day  at  dinner  Madame  Vauquer  drew  down  a 
curtain  to  shade  the  old  man's  eyes  into  which  the  sun 
was  shining. 


P£re  Goriot.  33 

"I  see  that  you  know  how  to  attract  pretty  women, 
Monsieur  Goriot,"  she  said  as  she  did  so ;  "  the  sun 
follows  you,"  alluding  by  means  of  the  proverb  to  his 
visitor.  "  Well,  you  have  good  taste ;  she  is  very 
pretty." 

"  That  was  my  daughter,"  lie  said,  with  a  gleam  of 
pride,  which  those  present  mistook  for  the  conceit  of 
an  old  man  pretending  to  save  appearances. 

A  month  after  this  visit  Monsieur  Goriot  received 
another.  His  daughter,  who  came  the  first  time  in 
morning  dress,  now  came  after  dinner  in  full  evening 
toilette.  The  company,  who  were  all  sitting  in  the 
salon,  saw,  as  she  passed,  that  she  was  a  lovely  blonde, 
slender,  graceful,  and  far  too  distinguished  looking  to 
be  the  daughter  of  a  Pere  Goriot. 

"  "Why,  he's  got  two ! "  cried  Sylvie,  who  did  not 
recognize  her. 

A  few  days  later  another  daughter  came,  —  tall,  dark, 
with  black  hair  and  brilliant  eyes ;  she  too  asked  for 
Monsieur  Goriot. 

"  Three  ! "  said  Sylvie. 

This  lady,  who  came  early  in  the  morning  at  her 
first  visit,  came  again  a  few  days  later  in  a  carriage 
and  dressed  for  a  ball. 

"That  makes  four!  "  exclaimed  Madame  Vauquer 
and  Sylvie,  who  did  not  recognize  in  the  fine  lady  of 
the  evening  the  simply  dressed  young  woman  who 
paid  her  first  visit  on  foot  at  an  early  hour. 

Goriot  was  still  paying  twelve  hundred  francs  a 
year  when  this  took  place  ;  and  Madame  Vauquer  was 
indulgent,  nay,  even  amused  at  what  she  thought  his 
adroitness  in  passing  these  ladies  off  as  his  daughters. 


34  Pere  G-oriot. 

Still,  as  the  visits  explained  his  indifference  to  her  own 
attractions,  she  permitted  herself  to  call  him  an  old 
scamp ;  and  when,  soon  after,  he  suddenly  fell  to  pay- 
ing nine  hundred  francs  a  year,  she  fiercely  asked  what 
business  he  had  to  receive  people  of  that  kind  in  her 
house.  Pere  Goriot  answered  that  the  lady  she  alluded 
to  was  his  eldest  daughter. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  next  that  you  have 
thirty-six  daughters,"  she  said  sharply. 

"  I  have  only  two,"  he  replied,  with  the  gentleness  of 
a  broken  spirit  beaten  down  to  the  docility  of  misery. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  third  year,  Pere  Goriot  re- 
duced his  expenses  still  further,  by  going  up  to  the 
third  storey  and  paying  only  forty-five  francs  a  month. 
He  gave  up  snuff,  dismissed  his  barber,  and  ceased  to 
wear  powder.  When  he  appeared  for  the  first  time 
without  it,  his  landlady  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise on  seeing  the  color  of  his  hair.  It  was 'a  dirty, 
greenish  gray.  His  face,  which  had  grown  sadder  day 
by  day  under  the  influence  of  some  secret  sorrow,  was 
now  the  most  desolate  of  all  those  that  met  around 
that  dismal  dinner-table.  The  widow  had  no  longer 
any  doubt.  Here  was  a  miserable  wretch  who  had 
worn  himself  out  by  his  excesses. 

When  his  stock  of  linen  was  exhausted,  he  replaced 
it  by  cotton  at  fourteen  sous  a  yard.  His  diamonds, 
his  gold  snuff-box,  his  chain,  his  jewels,  disappeared 
one  after  the  other.  The  light-blue  coat  was  given  up 
with  the  rest  of  his  comfortable  clothing,  and  he  now 
wore,  summer  and  winter,  a  frock-coat  of  coarse  brown 
cloth,  a  waistcoat  of  cheap  cotton  and  woollen  stuff, 
and  trousers  of  gray  twill.  He  grew  thinner  and  thin- 


Pere  Goriot.  35 

ner ;  the  calves  of  his  legs  shrank  ;  his  face,  which 
once  had  the  beaming  roundness  of  a  well-to-do  bour- 
geois, was  now  furrowed  with  wrinkles,  the  lines  on 
his  forehead  deepened,  and  his  jaws  grew  gaunt  and 
sharp.  At  the  end  of  his  fourth  year  in  the  Rue  Neuve 
Sainte-Genevieve  he  bore  no  likeness  to  his  former  self. 
The  sound  old  paste-maker  of  sixty-two,  who  might 
have  passed  for  forty  ;  the  jolly,  fat  bourgeois,  foolish 
and  simple-minded,  whose  jaunty  bearing  amused  even 
those  who  passed  him  on  the  street,  and  whose  smile 
had  something  of  the  gayety  of  youth,  —  seemed  now  a 
worn-out  septuagenarian,  stupid,  vacillating,  wan.  His 
lively  blue  eyes  had  tarnished  into  a  dull  steel-gray. 
They  never  watered  now ;  but  the  red  rims  still  en- 
circled them,  and  seemed  to  weep  tears  of  blood.  Some 
people  regarded  him  with  horror,  others  pitied  him. 
The  young  medical  students,  who  observed  the  drop  of 
his  under  lip  and  took  note  of  his  facial  angle,  said  to 
each  other,  after  teasing  and  tormenting  him  and  get- 
ting no  reply,  that  he  was  falling  into  imbecility. 

One  day,  after  dinner,  Madame  Vauquer  said  to  him, 
"  So  your  daughters  don't  come  to  see  you  any  more  ?  " 
in  a  tone  as  though  she  doubted  the  relationship.  He 
started  as  if  she  had  pricked  him  with  a  dagger. 

"  They  do  come  —  sometimes,"  he  said  sadly. 

"Ah,  ah!  so  you  still  see  them  sometimes  —  some- 
times ?  "  cried  the  students.  "  Bravo,  Pere  Goriot !  " 

But  the  old  man  did  not  hear  the  jests  that  followed 
his  simple  answer.  He  had  fallen  back  into  that  pas- 
sive state  which  those  who  observed  him  superficially 
took  for  senile  indifference.  If  they  had  really  known 
what  was  passing  before  their  eyes,  they  might  have 


36  Pere  Croriot. 

felt  an  interest  in  his  state  ns  a  moral  and  physical 
problem.  But  they  did  not  know,  nor  would  it  have 
been  easy  to  know,  the  old  man's  veal  life.  The  elderly 
people  of  the  pension,  who  alone  felt  any  interest  in 
it,  never  went  out  of  the  neighborhood, — they  lived 
like  oysters  in  a  bed  ;  and  as  for  the  young  men,  the 
excitements  of  their  Parisian  life  put  the  poor  old  man 
at  whom  they  gibed  out  of  their  heads  as  soon  as  they 
turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve. 
To  narrow  minds,  like  those  of  these  thoughtless  stu- 
dents, the  blank  misery  of  Pere  Goriot  and  his  dull 
stupidity  were  incompatible  with  the  possession  of  any 
means  or  indeed  of  any  capacity  whatever.  As  to  the 
women  whom  he  called  his  daughters,  every  one  shared 
the  opinion  of  Madame  Vauquer,  who  argued  —  with 
that  severity  of  logic  which  the  habit  of  attributing  low 
motives  cultivates  in  old  women  given  over  to  gossip- 
ping —  that  "if  Pere  Goriot  had  daughters  as  rich  as 
these  women  seemed  to  be,  he  would  not  be  living  in 
my  house,  paying  forty-five  francs  a  month,  and  dress- 
ing like  a  beggar."  These  inductions  could  not  be 
gainsaid  ;  so  that  by  the  end  of  the  month  of  Novem- 
ber, 1819,  the  time  of  the  opening  of  this  drama,  every 
one  in  the  house  had  made  up  his  or  her  mind  concern- 
ing the  unhappy  old  man.  He  had  never  had,  they 
declared,  either  wife  or  daughter  ;  he  was  a  snail,  a 
mollusk,  "to  be  classed  with  the  shell-fish,"  said  one  of 
them,  an  employe  at  a  neighboring  museum.  Poiret 
was  an  eagle,  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  beside  Goriot. 
Poiret  could  talk,  argue,  and  answer.  To  be  sure  he 
said  nothing,  for  his  talking,  arguing,  and  reasoning 
were  only  the  repetition  in  his  own  words  of  the  last 


Pere  Goriot.  37 

thing  said  by  other  people.  But  at  least  he  took  a 
share  in  the  common  talk,  he  was  alive,  he  seemed  to 
have  his  faculties  ;  while  Pere  Goriot,  as  another  em- 
ploye at  the  museum  remarked,  was  "always  below 
zero." 


38  Pere  Groriot. 


III. 


DE  RASTIGNAC  had  returned  from  his  vaca- 
tion in  a  state  of  mind  not  uncommon  in  young  men  of 
talent,  or  in  those  to  whom  circumstances  of  difficulty 
impart  for  a  time  the  qualities  of  picked  men.  During 
his  first  year  in  Paris  the  slight  application  required  to 
pass  through  the  first  stages  of  his  profession  had  left 
him  free  to  enjoy  the  external  charms  of  the  capital. 
A  student  finds  his  time  well  filled  up  if  lie  wishes  to 
study  the  windings  of  the  Parisian  labyrinth,  to  see  all 
that  is  worth  seeing  at  the  theatres,  to  know  the  cus- 
toms, to  learn  the  language,  to  get  used  to  the  special 
pleasures  of  the  great  capital,  to  ransack  all  its  corners 
good  and  bad,  to  attend  those  lectures  that  may  amuse 
him,  and  make  a  mental  catalogue  of  the  treasures 
collected  in  the  museums.  He  begins  by  an  enthusi- 
asm for  some  foolery  that  he  thinks  grandiose.  He 
chooses  a  hero,  —  possibly  a  professor  who  is  paid  to 
keep  himself  above  the  level  of  his  audience ;  or  he 
pulls  up  his  cravat  and  assumes  an  attitude  at  the 
Opera-Comique,  glancing  at  some  lady  in  the  first  tier 
of  boxes.  But  after  these  initiations  he  usually  peels 
off  his  husk,  enlarges  the  horizon  of  his  life,  and  ends 
by  getting  an  idea  of  the  various  human  strata  which 
make  society.  If  he  begins  by  admiring  the  carnages 
on  a  fine  day  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  he  ends  by  envy- 
injr  those  who  own  them. 


Pere  Goriot.  39 

Eugene  had  unconsciously  gone  through  much  of  all 
this  before  his  vacation,  when  he  went  back  to  his 
father's  house  with  his  bachelor's  degree  in  Law  and 
Letters.  The  faith  of  his  childhood,  his  idles  de  prov- 
ince, —  his  country  ideas,  —  had  left  him.  His  enlarged 
intelligence,  his  excited  ambition,  made  him  now  see 
the  true  condition  of  things  in  his  old  home.  His  father, 
mother,  two  brothers,  two  sisters,  and  an  aunt  who  had 
only  a  life  income,  lived  on  the  little  estate  of  Rastig- 
nac.  This  property  at  no  time  brought  in  more  than 
three  thousand  francs  a  year,  which  was  subject  to  the 
uncertainties  attendant  upon  grape  culture;  and  yet 
out  of  that  limited  revenue  twelve  hundred  francs 
were  subtracted  for  Eugene's  expenses.  The  sight  of 
their  perpetual  pinching,  which  they  tried  generously 
to  conceal  from  him  ;  the  comparison  he  was  forced  to 
make  between  his  sisters,  whom  he  once  thought  pretty 
girls,  and  the  Parisian  women  who  realized  the  loveli- 
ness of  his  boyish  dreams ;  the  uncertain  prospects  of 
the  large  family  dependent  on  his  success ;  the  frugality 
with  which  everything  was  cared  for ;  the  wine  squeezed 
for  family  use  out  of  the  last  strainings  of  the  press ; 
together  with  innumerable  shifts  that  need  not  be  told 
here,  — increased  ten-fold  his  desires  for  success,  and 
made  him  thirst  for  the  distinctions  of  the  world.  At 
first  he  felt,  as  high-strung  spirits  do  feel,  that  he 
would  owe  nothing  except  to  his  own  merits.  But 
his  nature  was  eminently  southern ;  when  the  time 
for  action  came,  he  was  liable  to  be  assailed  by  hesita- 
tions such  as  seize  men  in  mid-ocean  when  they  have 
lost  their  reckoning  and  know  not  how  to  lay  their 
course,  nor  at  what  angle  to  set  their  sails.  At  first 


40  Pere  Groriot. 

he  had  been  eager  to  fling  himself  body  and  soul  into 
the  work  of  his  profession  ;  then  he  was  led  away  by 
the  importance  of  forming  social  ties.  He  observed 
the  influence  which  women  exert  upon  society ;  and 
he  suddenly  resolved  to  try  for  success  in  the  great 
world,  and  to  win  the  help  and  protection  of  women 
of  social  standing.  Surely,  they  might  be  won  by  a 
young  man,  ardent  and  intelligent,  whose  mental  gifts 
were  aided  by  the  personal  charm  of  elegance,  and 
who  possessed  the  beauty  which  eminently  attracts 
women,  —  the  beauty  of  strength. 

These  ideas  worked  within  him  as  he  walked  about 
the  fields  listening  to  the  merry  chatter  of  his  sisters, 
who  thought  him  greatly  changed.  His  aunt,  Madame 
de  Marcillac,  had  been  at  court  in  the  days  before  the 
French  Revolution,  and  her  associates  were  among 
the  greatest  people  of  that  time.  All  at  once  it  oc- 
curred to  him,  as  he  pondered  his  ambitious  designs, 
that  among  the  recollections  of  her  past  life,  with 
which  she  had  amused  his  boyhood,  were  the  elements 
of  a  social  success  more  brilliant  than  any  he  could 
hope  to  attain  by  the  study  of  law.  He  questioned 
her  as  to  family  ties,  which  she  might  renew  on  his 
behalf.  After  shaking  the  branches  of  her  genealogi- 
cal tree,  the  old  lady  came  to  the  conclusion,  that,  of 
all  the  persons  who  might  be  useful  to  him  among  the 
careless  multitude  of  her  great  relatives,  Madame  la 
Vicomtesse  de  Beause'ant  was  likely  to  prove  the  most 
available.  She  therefore  wrote  to  this  young  woman 
an  old-fashioned  letter  of  introduction,  and  told 
Eugene  that  if  he  pleased  Madame  de  Beauseant 
she  would  undoubtedly  present  him  to  the  rest  of  his 


Pere  G-oriot.  41 

relatives.  A  few  days  after  his  return  to  Paris, 
Rastignac  sent  his  aunt's  letter  to  the  viscountess, 
who  replied  by  an  invitation  to  a  ball  for  the  next 
evening. 

Such,  then,  was  the  general  situation  of  affairs  in 
the  Maison  Vauquer  at  the  end  of  November,  1819. 
Two  days  later,  Eugene,  having  been  to  Madame  de 
Beauseant's  ball,  came  home  about  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  That  he  might  redeem  the  time  lost  in 
gayety,  he  had  made  a  vow,  in  the  middle  of  a  dance,  to 
sit  up  and  read  law  till  daylight.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  stayed  awake  in  that  still  and  silent  quarter  of 
Paris,  but  he  was  prepared  for  it  by  the  strong  excite- 
ment of  his  introduction  to  the  splendors  of  the  great 
world.  Eugene  had  not  dined  that  day  at  the  Maison 
Vauquer,  and  the  household  were  left  to  suppose  that 
he  would  not  return  before  daylight,  as  had  sometimes 
happened  after  a  fete  at  the  Prado,  or  a  ball  at  the 
Odeon,  to  the  detriment  of  his  silk-stockings  and  the 
stretching  of  his  dancing-shoes.  Before  slipping  the 
bolts  of  the  front  door  for  the  night,  Christophe  had 
opened  it  and  stood  looking  down  the  street.  At 
that  moment  Rastignac  came  in  and  went  up  to  his 
room  without  making  any  noise,  followed  by  Chris- 
tophe who  made  a  great  deal.  Eugene  took  off  his 
evening  coat,  put  on  his  slippers,  and  an  old  dressing- 
gown,  lit  his  fire  of  mottes,  —  little  blocks  of  refuse  bark 
prepared  as  a  cheap  fuel,  —  and  sat  down  so  quickly 
to  his  work  that  the  noise  of  Christophe's  heavy  foot- 
steps drowned  the  lesser  sound  of  his  own  movements. 
He  sat  thinking  a  few  moments  before  he  opened  his 
books. 


42  Pere  Goriot. 

He  had  found  Madame  <le  Beauseant  one  of  the 
queens  of  Parisian  society,  and  her  house  considered 
the  most  agreeable  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 
She  was  by  birth  and  fortune  an  acknowledged  leader 
in  the  fashionable  world.  Thanks  to  his  aunt  de  Mar- 
cillac,  the  poor  student  had  been  welcomed  in  this  bril- 
liant house  ;  though  as  yet  he  did  not  realize  the  extent 
of  the  favor.  To  be  admitted  into  those  gilded  salons 
was  equivalent  to  a  patent  of  nobility.  Once  launched 
in  the  society  he  met  there,  the  most  exclusive  of  all 
societies,  he  had  obtained  the  right  to  go  everywhere. 
Dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  that  surrounded  him,  Eugene, 
after  exchanging  a  few  words  with  his  hostess,  had 
given  all  his  attention  to  one  lady  in  that  circle  of 
Parisian  goddesses,  —  a  lady  whose  beauty  was  of  a 
type  that  attracts  at  first  sight  the  admiration  of  young 
men.  Countess  Anastasie  de  Restaud,  tall  and  well- 
made,  was  thought  to  have  one  of  the  finest  figures  in 
Paris.  With  large  dark  eyes,  beautiful  hands,  a  well- 
turned  foot,  vivacity  and  grace  in  all  her  movements, 
she  was  a  woman  whom  such  an  authority  as  the  Mar- 
quis de  Ronquerolles  declared  to  be  "  thoroughbred." 
Her  high-strung,  nervous  temperament  had  not  im- 
paired her  beauty.  The  lines  of  her  figure  were  full 
and  rounded,  though  not  at  all  inclining  to  embonpoint. 
11  Thoroughbred,"  lt  pure-blooded,"  —  these  expressions 
were  beginning  to  take  the  place  of  the  old  forms 
of  approval,  —  "angels  of  heaven,"  hyperboles  from 
Ossian,  and  all  the  mythological  vocabulary  rejected 
by  modern  dandyism.  To  Rastignac,  Madame  de 
Restaud  seemed  the  woman  who  might  serve  his  pur- 
pose. He  secured  two  dances  in  the  list  written 


Pere  Croriot.  43 

upon  her  fan,  and  talked  to  her  during  the  pauses  of 
a  quadrille. 

"  Where  may  I  hope  to  meet  you  again,  Madame  ?  " 
he  said,  with  that  insistent  admiration  which  has  so 
much  charm  for  women. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  in  the  Bois,  at  the  opera,  at  home, 
—  everywhere." 

And  this  bold  son  of  the  south  pressed  his  way  with 
the  charming  countess  as  far  as  a  man  could  go  in  the 
intervals  of  a  waltz  and  a  quadrille.  When  he  told 
her  that  he  was  cousin  to  Madame  de  Beauseant,  the 
countess,  whom  he  took  for  a  great  lady,  invited  him 
to  visit  her.  From  the  smile  she  gave  him  at  parting, 
Rastignac  judged  that  the  invitation  was  one  he  might 
accept  immediately.  He  had  the  good  fortune,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a 
man  too  noble  to  ridicule  his  ignorance,  —  a  vice  in  the 
eyes  of  the  impertinent  young  dandies  of  the  period, 
gifted  themselves  with  the  vice  of  superciliousness. 
They  were  all  there  in  full  force :  the  Maulincourts, 
the  Ronquerolles,  the  Maxime  de  Trailles,  the  de  Mar- 
says,  the  Adjuda-Pintos,  in  the  glory  of  their  self- 
conceit,  and  dancing  attendance  on  the  most  elegant 
women  of  Paris,  —  Lady  Brandon,  the  Duchesse  de 
Lungeais,  the  Comtesse  de  Kergarouet,  Madame  de 
Serizy,  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  Comtesse  Ferraud, 
Madame  de  Lanty,  the  Marquise  d'Aiglemont,  Ma- 
dame Firrniani,  the  Marquise  de  Listomere  and  the 
Marquise  d'Espard,  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse, 
and  the  de  Grandlieus.1  Happily,  therefore,  for  the 

1  These  were  all  living  people  to  de  Balzac,  and  their  histories 
can  be  found  in  his  other  books. 


44  P£re  G-oriot. 

inexperienced  student,  he  stumbled  upon  the  Marquis 
de  Montriveau,  who  was  present  in  attendance  on  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais,  —  a  general,  a  brave  soldier, 
and  simple-hearted  as  a  child.  From  him  Eugene 
learned  that  Madame  de  Restaud  lived  in  the  Rue  du 
Helder. 

To  be  young,  to  thirst  for  distinction,  to  hunger  for 
the  smiles  of  a  woman,  to  see  unclosing  before  him  the 
doors  of  these  great  mansions,  to  plant  his  foot  in  the 
Faubourg  at  Madame  de  Beauseant's,  to  bend  the  knee 
in  the  Chaussee  d'  Antin  at  Madame  de  Restaud's,  to 
glance  through  the  long  vista  of  Parisian  salons  and 
know  himself  attractive  and  fit  to  win  help  and  protec- 
tion from  a  woman,  to  feel  that  he  could  tread  firmly 
the  social  tight-rope,  where  safety  depends  upon  nerve 
and  self-confidence,  and  to  have  found  already  in  one 
of  these  rare  women  the  balance-pole  of  his  ambition, 
—  with  such  thoughts,  with  visions  of  this  woman  rising 
in  the  smoke  of  his  bark  fire,  Law  on  the  one  hand, 
Poverty  on  the  other,  what  wonder  that  Eugene  pierced 
the  future  in  a  waking  dream,  and  attained  in  fancy  to 
his  goal,  —  success?  His  vagrant  thoughts  were  in 
full  career,  and  he  was  picturing  himself  by  the  side  of 
Madame  de  Restaud,  when  a  sigh  broke  the  silence  of 
the  night,  —  a  sigh  so  deep  and  piteous  that  it  echoed 
in  the  heart  of  the  young  man  as  though  it  had  been 
a  death-rattle. 

He  opened  his  door  softly,  and  slipping  into  the 
corridor,  saw  a  line  of  light  along  Pere  Goriot's  thresh- 
old. Fearing  that  his  neighbor  was  ill,  he  stooped 
and  looked  through  the  key-hole.  The  old  man  was 
at  work  in  a  way  so  apparently  criminal  that  Rastignac 


Pere  Croriot.  45 

thought  the  interests  of  society  required  him  to  watch 
and  see  what  came  of  it.  Pere  Goriot  had  fastened 
two  pieces  of  plate,  a  bowl  of  some  kind  with  the  dish 
belonging  to  it,  to  the  leg  of  his  table.  He  had  twisted 
a  piece  of  rope  round  these  objects,  which  were  richly 
embossed,  and  was  pulling  upon  it  with  all  his  strength, 
evidently  trying  to  reduce  them  to  a  mere  lump  of 
silver. 

"  The  devil !  What  a  fellow !  "  cried  Rastignac  to 
himself,  as  he  saw  the  strong  arms  of  the  old  man 
kneading  up  the  silver  as  if  it  had  been  dough.  "  Can 
he  be  a  robber ;  or  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods  ?  Does 
he  make  believe  to  be  a  fool,  that  he  may  carry  on  his 
iniquities  in  secret?  Is  this  what  makes  him  live  here 
like  a  beggar?"  added  Eugene,  taking  his  eye  from 
the  key-hole. 

He  looked  again.  Pere  Goriot  had  unwound  his 
rope.  He  took  the  lump  of  silver  and  laid  it  on  the 
table,  where  he  had  spread  a  cloth,  and  rolled  it  into  a 
bar,  —  an  operation  he  performed  with  the  utmost  ease. 

"  Why,  he  must  have  arms  like  Augustus  the  Strong, 
King  of  Poland !  "  cried  Eugene,  when  the  bar  was 
nearly  fashioned. 

Pere  Goriot  looked  sadly  at  his  work,  and  his  tears 
fell  fast  upon  the  silver.  He  then  blew  out  the  rushlight 
by  whose  glimmer  he  had  done  the  deed,  and  Eugene 
heard  him  lie  down  upon  his  bed  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  He  must  be  mad ! "  thought  the  student. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  groaned  Pere  Goriot. 

On  hearing  these  words  Rastignac  suddenly  resolved 
to  say  nothing  about  what  he  had  seen,  and  not  to 
condemn  his  neighbor  too  hastily.  He  was  about  to 


46  Pere  Groriot. 

return  to  his  room  when  he  became  aware  of  another 
noise,  and  one  difficult  to  define,  as  if  men  in  felt  shoes 
were  treading  softly  on  the  stairs.  Eugene  listened, 
and  was  sure  that  he  heard  the  breathing  of  two  men. 
No  door  creaked,  and  no  distinct  steps  were  heard,  but 
he  caught  a  sudden  gleam  of  light  on  the  second  storey 
shining  through  the  chinks  of  Vautrin's  door. 

"Mysteries  enough  for  one  night  in  a  pension  bour- 
geoise"  he  said  to  himself.  He  went  down  a  few  stairs 
and  listened  intently.  The  chink  of  gold  coin  struck 
his  ear.  In  a  few  moments  the  light  was  extinguished, 
the  breathing  of  two  men  was  again  heard,  but  again 
no  door  creaked.  The  men  were  going  softly  down  the 
stairs,  and  the  slight  noise  of  their  steps  died  away. 

"Who  is  there?"  cried  Madame  Vauquer,  opening 
a  window  in  her  apartment  which  looked  on  the  stairs. 

"I  have  just  come  in,  Mamma  Vauquer,"  replied  the 
strong  voice  of  Vautrin. 

"  That 's  odd,"  said  Eugene  returning  to  his  chamber, 
"for  I  am  certain  I  saw  Christophe  slip  the  bolts! 
They  say  you  must  sit  up  all  night  in  Paris  if  you  want 
to  know  what  your  neighbors  do." 

His  dreams  of  amorous  ambition  being  dispelled  by 
these  inteiTuptions,  Eugene  now  began  to  study ;  but 
with  little  profit.  His  mind  wandered  to  the  suspicions 
roused  by  Pere  Goriot,  then  to  the  face  of  Madame  de 
Restaud  rising  before  him  as  the  pharos  of  a  brilliant 
destiny ;  and  before  long  he  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep 
with  his  hands  clinched.  Out  of  every  ten  nights  which 
young  people  vow  to  study  seven  are  spent  in  sleep. 
Ah  !  we  must  be  more  than  twenty  to  stay  awake  all 
night. 


Pere  Goriot.  47 


IV. 


THE  next  morning  Paris  was  enveloped  in  a  dense 
fog ;  one  of  those  fogs  that  wrap  themselves  about  the 
city  and  make  the  atmosphere  so  dark  that  even  punc- 
tual people  lose  note  of  time.  Business  engagements 
are  not  kept,  and  many  think  it  eight  o'clock  when  it 
is  nearly  midday.  It  was  half-past  nine,  and  Madame 
Vauquer  was  not  out  of  bed.  Christophe  and  Sylvie, 
who  were  both  behindhand,  were  taking  their  coffee, — 
made  with  the  top  skimmings  of  the  milk,  the  rest  of 
which  Sylvie  boiled  a  long  time  to  thicken  it,  so  that 
Madame  Vauquer  might  not  discover  the  tithe  thus 
illegally  levied. 

"  Sylvie,"  said  Christophe,  soaking  his  first  bit  of 
toast,  "  Monsieur  Vautrin  —  a  good  fellow  all  the  same 
—  had  twb  more  men  to  see  him  last  night.  If  Madame 
asks  about  it,  you  need  n't  say  much." 

"  Did  he  give  you  anything?  " 

"  Paid  me  five  francs  for  his  month  ;  that 's  as  much 
as  to  say,  '  Hold  your  tongue.' " 

"  He  and  Madame  Couture,"  said  Sylvie,  "  are  not 
mean  ;  all  the  rest  would  like  to  take  back  with  their 
left  hands  what  their  right  hands  give  us  on  New 
Year's  Day." 

"  And  what 's  that,  anyhow  ?"  cried  Christophe.  "  A 
miserable  five-franc  piece,  —  that 's  all !  There  's  Pere 


48  Pere  Goriot. 

Goriot,  who  has  blacked  his  own  boots  these  two 
months.  That  old  miser,  Poiret,  won't  use  blacking  ; 
he'd  drink  it  sooner  than  put  it  on  his  broken  old 
shoes.  As  to  that  slip  of  a  student,  he  only  gives  me 
forty  sous  a  month.  Forty  sons  doesn't  pay  for  my 
brushes  ;  and  he  sells  his  old  clothes  into  the  bargain. 
What  a  hovel,  to  be  sure !  " 

"Bah  !"  said  Sylvie,  slowly  sipping  her  coffee,  "  our 
places  are  the  best  in  the  quarter.  We  do  very  well. 
But  as  to  that  big  Vautrin  —  Christophe,  did  anybody 
ever  ask  you  about  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  met  a  gentleman  a  few  days  ago  in  the 
street,  and  said  he,  '  Have  n't  you  got  at  your  house  a 
stout  gentleman  who  dyes  his  whiskers  ?  '  I  said,  '  No ; 
our  stout  gentleman's  whiskers  are  not  dyed  ;  a  man 
who  goes  the  pace  he  does  has  n't  the  time  to  dye  his 
whiskers.'  I  told  Monsieur  Vautrin  about  it,  and  he 
said,  '  Quite  right,  my  boy  ;  always  answer  such  ques- 
tions like  that.  There's  nothing  more  disagreeable 
than  to  have  people  finding  out  your  little  infirmities. 
Marriages  can  be  balked  that  way.'" 

"  Well,  in  the  market  the  other  day,"  said  Sylvie, 
"  they  tried  to  lime  me  too.  A  man  asked  if  I  had 
ever  seen  him  putting  on  his  shirt.  Think  of  that, 
now! —  Goodness!"  she  cried,  interrupting  herself, 
"  there 's  a  quarter  to  ten  striking  on  the  Val  de  Grace  ; 
and  everybody  in  bed  ! " 

"  Pooh  !  they  are  all  out.  Madame  Couture  and  her 
young  person  went  to  mass  at  Saint-Etienne's  at  eight 
o'clock.  Pere  Goriot  was  off  early  with  a  bundle  ;  the 
student  won't  be  back  till  after  lecture.  I  saw  them 
all  go  out  as  I  was  cleaning  my  stairs.  Pere  Goriot 


Pere  Goriot.  49 

knocked  me  as  he  passed  with  the  thing  he  was  carry- 
ing ;  it  was  as  hard  as  iron.  What  on  earth  is  he 
about,  that  old  fellow?  All  the  rest  of  them  spin  him 
round  like  a  top.  But  he  's  a  good  man,  I  can  tell  you ; 
worth  more  than  the  whole  of  them  put  together.  He 
does  not  give  me  a  great  deal,  but  the  ladies  where  he 
sends  me  give  famously.  They  are  finely  dressed  out, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"  Them  that  he  calls  his  daughters, —  hein?  Why, 
there  's  a  dozen  of  them  ! " 

"  I  only  go  to  two,  —  the  two  that  came  here." 
-  "  There  !     I  hear  Madame  getting  up.     She  '11  make 
an  uproar  about  it 's  being  late.     I  must  go.      Look 
after  the  milk,  Christophe,  and  see  that  the  cat  does  n't 
get  it." 

So  saying,  Sylvie  went  upstairs  to  Madame  Vauquer. 

"  Why,  Sylvie,  how  is  this  ?  A  quarter  to  ten,  and 
you  have  let  me  sleep  so  late.  I  have  slept  like  a 
dormouse.  Such  a  thing  never  happened  to  me 
before." 

"  It 's  the  fog ;  you  could  cut  it  with  a  knife." 

"  But  about  breakfast  —  " 

"Bah!  the  devil  got  into  the  lodgers,  and  they 
turned  out  des  lepatron-jaquet"  (at  daybreak). 

"  Sylvie,  do  speak  properly,  and  say  le  patron-minet" 

"  Well,  Madame,  any  way  you  like.  But  you  '11  all 
breakfast  to-day  at  ten  o'clock.  Old  Michonneau  and 
Poiret  are  not  out  of  their  beds.  There  's  no  one  else 
in  the  house,  and  those  two  sleep  like  logs  —  as  they 
are." 

"  But,  Sylvie,  why  do  you  always  mention  them  to- 
gether, as  if —  " 

4 


50  Pere  Q-oriot. 

"As  if  what?"  said  Sylvie,  with  her  horse-laugh, 
"why  not?  Two  make  a  pair." 

"  Something  happened — very  odd  —  last  night,  Syl- 
vie. How  did  Monsieur  Vautrin  get  in  after  Chris- 
tophe  had  bolted  the  front  door?" 

£'  Oh  !  it  was  this  way,  Madame.  Christophe  heard 
Monsieur  Vautrin,  and  he  came  down  and  unfastened 
the  door.  That's  why  you  thought — ' 

"  Give  me  my  wrapper,  and  go  and  see  about  break- 
fast. You  can  hash  up  the  remains  of  that  mutton 
with  potatoes ;  and  give  us  some  baked  pears,  —  those 
that  cost  three  sous  a  dozen." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Madame  Vauquer  came  into  the 
dining-room  just  as  her  cat  had  knocked  off  a  plate 
which  covered  a  bowl  of  milk,  and  was  lapping  the 
contents. 

"  Mistigris  !  "  she  cried.  The  cat  scampered  off,  but 
soon  returned  and  rubbed  up  against  her  legs.  "  Yes, 
yes,  you  old  hypocrite !  you  can  coax  when  you  've 
been  stealing.  Sylvie  !  Sylvie ! " 

"  Yes,  what  is  it,  Madame  ?  " 

"  Just  see  how  much  the  cat  has  stolen  !  " 

"  That  animal  of  a  Christophe  !  it's  his  fault.  I  told 
him  to  watch  the  cat,  and  set  the  table.  Where  has 
he  gone  to,  I  wonder  ?  Nevermind,  Madame,  I  '11  keep 
that  milk  for  Pere  Goriot.  I  '11  put  some  water  to  it, 
and  he  '11  never  know.  He  takes  no  notice  of  what  he 
puts  in  his  mouth." 

"  What  took  him  out  early  this  morning,  the  old 
heathen  ?  "  said  Madame  Vauquer,  as  she  put  the  plates 
round  the  table. 

"  Who  knows  ?  He  trades  with  all  the  five  hundred 
devils." 


Pere  Croriot.  51 

"  I  believe  I  slept  too  long,"  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

"But  the  sleep  has  made  Madame  as  fresh  as  a 
rose." 

At  this  moment  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Vautrin  came 
into  the  salon,  singing  in  his  strong  voice, — 

"'Long  have  I  wandered  here  and  there, 
And  wherever  by  chance 
I  cast  my  glance  — ' 

"  Oh !  Oh !  good  morning,  Mamma  Vauquer,"  he 
cried,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  his  landlady,  gallantly 
catching  her  round  the  waist. 

"  Come,  come  —  don't ! "  she  said. 

"  Say, '  Don't,  you  impertinent  rascal ! '  Ah  !  do  as  I 
tell  you  ;  say  so  !  Now  I  '11  help  you  to  set  the  table. 
I  'm  a  pretty  good  fellow,  am  I  not  ? 

" '  I  courted  the  brown,  and  I  courted  the  fair  — ' 
I  saw  something  odd  just  now  — 

"  '  When  I  happened  by  chance 
To  cast  my  glance  — ' " 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  exclaimed  the  widow. 

"  Pere  Goriot,  at  half-past  eight  o'clock,  in  the  gold- 
smith's shop  in  the  Rue  Dauphine,  —  the  fellow,  you 
know,  who  buys  old  spoons  and  gold  lace.  Pere  Goriot 
sold  him,  for  a  good  round  sum,  some  sort  of  utensil  in 
silver-gilt  quite  skilfully  twisted  out  of  shape,  —  con- 
sidering he  has  never  followed  the  profession." 

"Bah!  really?" 

"  Yes,  truly.  I  was  coming  back  that  way  after  see- 
ing off  a  friend  by  the  Messageries  Royales.  I  followed 
Goriot  to  see  what  he  would  do  next — just  for  fun. 
He  turned  into  the  Rue  des  Gres,  where  he  went  to  the 


52  P£re  &orfot. 

house  of  an  old  usurer  whom  everybody  knows,  named 
Gobseck,  —  a  thorough  rascal,  capable  of  turning  his 
father's  bones  into  dominos  ;  a  Jew,  an  Arab,  a  Greek, 
a  Bohemian,  a  fellow  confoundedly  hard  for  a  man  to 
rob ;  puts  all  his  money  into  the  bank." 

"  But  what  does  this  old  Goriot  really  do  ?  " 

"  He  does  nothing,"  said  Vautrin  ;  "  he  undoes.  He 
is  fool  enough  to  ruin  himself  for  worthless  women, 
who  —  " 

"  He 's  coming  in,"  said  Sylvie. 

"  Christophe ! "  called  Pdre  Goriot  from  without, 
"  come  up  to  my  room." 

Christophe  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  came  back  for  his 
hat  in  a  few  moments. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

"  On  a  message  for  Monsieur  Goriot." 

"  What  have  you  got  there?  "  cried  Vautrin,  snatch- 
ing a  letter  out  of  Christophe's  hand  and  reading  the 
address,  —  To  Madame  la  Comtesse  Anastasie  de 
Hestaud. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  take  it  ?  "  he  continued, 
giving  the  letter  back  to  Christophe. 

"  Rue  du  Helcler.  I  was  told  to  give  it  into  the 
hands  of  Madame  la  comtesse  herself." 

"  I  wonder  what 's  inside  of  it  ?  "  said  Vautrin,  tak- 
ing it  back  again,  and  holding  it  up  to  the  light;  "a 
bank-note?  No  — "  he  peeped  into  the  envelope  — 
"  it 's  a  cancelled  note !  "  he  cried.  "  What  a  gal- 
lant old  rascal !  Be  off,  my  boy  ! "  he  added,  putting 
the  palm  of  his  big  hand  on  Christophe's  head,  and 
spinning  him  round  like  a  thimble.  "  You  ought  to 
get  a  good pour-boire" 


Pere  Goriot.  53 

The  table  being  set,  Sylvie  proceeded  to  boil  the 
milk  ;  Madame  Vauquer  lit  the  dining-room  stove,  and 
Vautrin  helped  her,  still  humming,  — 

"  Long  have  I  wandered  here  and  there." 

By  the  time  all  was  ready,  Madame  Couture  and 
Mademoiselle  Taillefer  came  in. 

"Where  have  you  been  so  early,  my  dear  lady?" 
said  Madame  Vauquer  to  Madame  Couture. 

"  We  have  been  to  pray  at  Saint-Etienne  du  Mont. 
This  is  the  day,  you  know,  we  are  to  go  to  Monsieur 
Taillefer.  Victorine,  poor  little  thing,  is  trembling  like 
a  leaf,"  said  Madame  Couture,  sitting  down  before  the 
stove,  and  putting  up  her  damp  feet,  which  began  to 
smoke. 

"  Pray,  warm  yourself,  Victorine,"  said  Madame 
Vauquer. 

"  It  is  all  very  right,  Mademoiselle,  to  pray  to  the 
good  God  to  soften  your  father's  heart,"  said  Vautrin 
to  the  young  lady  ;  "but  that 's  not  enough.  You  need 
a  friend  who  will  speak  his  mind  to  the  fierce  old  fel- 
low, —  a  savage,  they  say,  who  has  three  millions  of 
francs,  and  won't  give  you  a  dot  [a  dowry].  Every 
pretty  girl  needs  a  dot  in  times  like  these." 

"Poor  darling!"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  "your 
monster  of  a  father  will  bring  punishment  on  his  own 
head." 

At  these  words  tears  started  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor 
girl,  and  Madame  Vauquer  stopped,  restrained  by  a 
sign  from  Madame  Couture. 

"  If  we  could  only  see  him,  —  if  I  might  speak  to 
him  and  give  him  the  last  letter  of  his  poor  wife,"  said 


64  Pere  Goriot. 

the  paymaster's  widow.  "  I  have  never  dared  to  send 
it  to  him  by  post ;  he  knows  my  writing." 

"  '  O  woman  !  innocent,  unhappy,  persecuted,'  as  the 
poet  says,"  cried  Vautrin,  "  see  what  you  have  come 
to!  In  a  few  days  I  shall  interfere  in  your  affairs, 
and  then  things  will  go  better." 

"Ah,  Monsieur !"  said  Victorine,  casting  a  look  at 
once  tearful  and  eager  upon  Vautrin,  who  seemed  quite 
immoved  by  it ;  "  if  you  know  any  way  of  communi- 
cating with  my  father,  tell  him  that  his  love  and  the 
honor  of  my  mother  are  dearer  to  me  than  all  the 
riches  of  the  world.  If  you  could  succeed  in  making 
him  less  harsh  to  me,  I  would  pray  God  for  you.  Be 
sure  that  my  gratitude  —  " 

"  Long  have  I  wandered  here  and  there," 

sang  Vautrin,  in  a  tone  of  irony. 

At  that  moment  Goriot,  Mademoiselle  Michonneau, 
and  Poiret  came  down,  attracted  probably  by  the  sa- 
vory smell  of  Sylvie's  mutton.  Just  as  the  seven  sat 
down  to  table  and  exchanged  good  mornings,  half-past 
ten  struck,  and  the  step  of  the  student  was  heard  on 
the  gravel. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Eugene,"  said  Sylvie,  "  to-day  you 
will  get  your  breakfast  with  the  others." 

The  young  man  bowed  to  the  company,  and  took  his 
seat  by  Pere  Goriot. 

"  I  have  just  had  a  strange  adventure,"  he  said, 
helping  himself  liberally  to  the  mutton,  and  cutting  a 
slice  of  bread  which  Madame  Vauquer  measured  with 
her  eye. 

«'  An  adventure ! "  repeated  Poiret. 


Pere  Groriot.  55 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  why  should  that  astonish  you  ?  " 
said  Vautrin.  "  Monsieur  looks  as  if  he  were  made 
for  adventures." 

Mademoiselle  Taillefer  glanced  timidly  at  the  young 
man. 

"  Come,  tell  us  !  "  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

"  Last  night  I  was  at  a  ball  at  the  house  of  my  cou- 
sin, Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant.  She  has  a 
splendid  house,  —  rooms  hung  with  silk ;  in  short,  she 
gave  us  a  magnificent  fete,  where  I  amused  myself  as 
much  as  a  king  —  " 

"  Fisher,"  interpolated  Vautrin. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Eugene  angrily,  "  what  do  you. 
mean  ?  " 

"I  said  fisher,  because  kingfishers  amuse  themselves 
a  great  deal  better  than  kings." 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  I  'd  rather  be  a  little  bird  that  has 
no  cares,  than  a  king ;  because  —  because  —  "  said 
Poiret,  man  of  echoes. 

"  Well,  anyway,'*  continued  the  student,  "  I  danced 
with  one  of  the  loveliest  women  at  the  ball,  —  a 
charming  countess,  the  most  delightful  creature  I  have 
ever  seen.  She  wore  peach-blossoms  in  her  hair,  and 
flowers  at  her  waist,  —  natural  flowers  of  delicious  fra- 
grance. Pshaw !  you  ought  to  have  seen  her ;  it  is 
impossible  to  describe  a  lovely  woman  animated  by 
dancing.  Well,  this  morning  I  met  this  same  divine 
countess  about  nine  o'clock,  on  foot,  in  the  Rue  des 
Gres.  Oh !  my  heart  jumped !  I  fancied  for  a 
moment  —  " 

"  That  she  was  coming  here,"  said  Vautrin,  looking 
the  young  man  through  and  through.  "  She  was 


56  P£re  Q-oriot. 

probably  going  to  look  up  Papa  Gobseck,  the  money- 
lender. Young  man,  if  you  ever  get  an  insight  into 
the  hearts  of  Parisian  women,  you  will  find  money- 
more  potent  there  than  love.  Your  countess's  name 
was  Annstasie  de  Restaud,  and  she  lives  in  the  Rue 
du  Helder." 

At  this  the  student  turned  and  stared  at  Vautrin. 
Pere  Goriot  raised  his  head  quickly  and  shot  at  the 
two  speakers  a  glance  so  keen  and  anxious  that  he 
astonished  the  other  guests  who  noticed  him.  "  Chris- 
tophe  will -get  there  too  late ;  she  will  have  gone,"  he 
murmured  sadly. 

"  I  guessed  right,  you  see,"  said  Vautrin,  leaning 
over  and  whispering  to  Madame  Vauquer. 

Goriot  went  on  eating  his  breakfast  without  know- 
ing what  he  was  doing;  he  sank  back  into  himself, 
and  never  looked  more  stupid  and  self-absorbed  than 
at  this  moment. 

"  Who  the  devil,  Monsieur  Vautrin,"  cried  Eugene  de 
Rastignac,  "  could  have  told  you  that  lady's  name  ?  " 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Vautrin.  "Pere  Goriot  knew 
it,  —  why  should  n't  I  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Goriot !  "  cried  the  student. 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  the  poor  old  man. 
"  Was  she  very  beautiful  last  night !  " 

"Who?" 

"  Madame  de  Restaud." 

"  Look  at  the  old  wretch ;  how  his  eyes  sparkle  ! " 
whispered  Madame  Vauquer  to  her  neighbor. 

"Yes,  she  was  marvellously  beautiful,"  replied 
Eugene,  at  whom  Pere  Goriot  was  now  looking 
engerly.  « If  Madame  de  Beauseant  had  been  absent, 


P£re  Goriot.  57 

my  divine  countess  would  have  been  queen  of  the  ball. 
The  young  men  had  no  eyes  but  for  her.  I  was  the 
twelfth  written  on  her  list ;  she  danced  all  the  eve- 
ning. The  other  women  were  jealous  of  her.  If  any 
creature  was  happy  last  night,  it  was  she.  The  old 
saying  is  true,  —  the  three  most  beautiful  things  in 
motion  are  a  frigate  under  sail,  a  horse  at  full  speed, 
and  a  woman  dancing." 

"  Last  night  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,  at  the  ball  of  a 
duchess ;  this  morning  down  in  the  mud  in  the  shop 
of  a  money-lender,"  said  Vautrin.  "  If  their  husbands 
cannot  pay  for  their  unbridled  extravagance,  they  will 
get  the  money  in  other  ways.  They  would  rip  open 
their  mother's  breasts  to  get  the  means  of  outshining 
their  rivals  at  a  ball." 

Pere  Goriot's  face,  which  at  the  praise  of  Madame  de 
Restaud  had  lighted  up  like  a  landscape  when  the  sun 
falls  upon  it,  clouded  over  as  he  listened  to  these  words. 

"  Well,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  "  how  about  your 
adventure,  Monsieur  Eugene  ?  Did  you  speak  to  her  ? 
Did  you  ask  her  if  she  was  coming  into  this  neighbor- 
hood to  study  law?" 

"  She  did  not  see  me,"  said  Eugene  ;  "but  to  meet 
such  a  lady  in  the  Rue  des  Gres  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  —  a  woman  who  could  not  have  got  home 
from  the  ball  for  some  hours  after  midnight,  —  does 
seem  to  me  very  singular.  Paris  is  the  only  place  for 
such  strange  things."  " 

"  Bah !  there  are  many  far  more  strange,"  said 
Vautrin. 

Mademoiselle  Taillefer  had  scarcely  listened,  so  pre- 
occupied was  she  by  the  fresh  effort  she  was  about  to 


58  Pere  Goriot. 

make  to  see  her  father.  Madame  Couture  made  her 
a  sign  that  it  was  time  to  dress;  and  when  the  two 
ladies  rose  and  left  the  room  Pere  Goriot  left  also. 

"  Did  you  notice  him  ?  "  said  Madame  Vauquer  to 
Vautrin  and  the  rest.  "  I  am  convinced  those  women 
are  his  ruin." 

"  You  will  never  make  me  believe,"  cried  the  stu- 
dent, "that  the  beautiful  Comtesse  de  Restaud  has 
anything  to  do  with  Pere  Goriot  — 

"Who  wants  you  to  believe  it?"  said  Vautrin,  in- 
terrupting him.  "You  don't  know  Paris  yet,  —  you 
are  too  young.  You  '11  find  out  later  that  there  are 
men  absorbed  by  passions,  —  a  passion."  At  these 
words,  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  raised  her  head  and 
looked  at  him,  like  a  war  horse  that  hears  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet.  "  Ah  !  "  said  Vautrin,  interrupting  him- 
self to  send  her  a  piercing  glance ;  "  we  know,  do  we, 
all  about  that  ?  Yes,"  he  resumed,  "  such  men  pursue 
one  idea,  one  passion,  and  never  relinquish  it.  They 
thirst  for  one  water,  from  one  fountain,  —  often  stag- 
nant. To  gain  it  they  will  sell  wife  and  children,  — 
they  will  sell  their  own  souls.  For  some  this  fountain 
is  play,  or  stocks,  collections  of  pictures, — even  in- 
sects, music.  For  others  it  is  a  woman  who  ministers 
to  some  taste ;  to  these  you  may  offer  every  other 
woman  upon  earth,  —  they  will  not  look  at  them. 
They  will  have  the  woman  who  satisfies  their  want, 
whatever  it  is.  Often  this  woman  does  not  love  them, 
—  nay,  will  ill-treat  them,  and  despoil  them,  and  make 
them  pay  dearly  for  small  shreds  of  satisfaction.  No 
matter,  —  the  fools  will  not  let  go  ;  they  will  pawn  their 
last  blanket  for  her  sake,  and  bring  her  their  last  sou. 


PeVe  G-oriot.  59 

Pere  Goriot  is  one  of  these  men.  Your  countess  gets 
all  she  can  out  of  him,  —  he  is  safe  and  silent.  The 
poor  fellow  has  no  thought  except  for  her.  Watch 
him :  outside  of  this  passion  he  is  little  more  than  a 
dumb  animal ;  rouse  him  about  her,  and  his  eyes  spar- 
kle like  diamonds.  It  is  easy  enough  to  guess  his 
secret.  He  carried  his  bit  of  plate  this  morning  to  be 
melted ;  I  saw  him  afterwards  going  into  Gobseck's,  in 
the  Rue  des  Gres.  Now,  mark!  as  soon  as  he  got 
home  he  sent  that  simpleton  Christophe  to  Madame 
de  Restaud  with  a  letter  containing  a  cancelled  note. 
Christophe  showed  us  the  address.  It  is  clear  that 
the  matter  was  pressing,  for  the  countess  went  herself 
to  the  old  money-lender.  Pere  Goriot  has  been  rais- 
ing money  for  her.  It  does  n't  take  much  cleverness 
to  put  two  and  two  together  here.  And  this  shows 
you,  my  young  student,  that  last  night,  when  your 
countess  was  laughing  and  dancing  and  playing  her 
tricks,  and  fluttering  her  peach-blossoms,  and  shaking 
out  her  gown,  her  heartf  was  down  in  the  soles  of  her 
little  satin  slippers,  thinking  of  some  note  of  hers  that 
was  going  to  protest  —  or,  of  her  lover's." 

"You  make  me  savage  to  know  the  truth,"  cried 
Eugene ;  "  I  will  go  to-morrow  and  call  on  Madame 
de  Restaud." 

"  Yes,  to-morrow,"  said  Poiret ;  "  better  call  to- 
morrow on  Madame  de  Restaud." 

"  But,  Paris ! "  said  Eugene,  in  a  tone  of  disgust, 
"  what  a  sink  of  iniquity  your  Paris  must  be." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Vautrin,  "  and  a  queer  sink,  too. 
Those  who  get  muddy  in  their  carriages  are  virtuous ; 
those  who  get  muddy  afoot  are  knaves.  Hook  a  trifle 


60  Pere  G-oriot. 

that  is  not  your  own,  and  they  show  you  up  on  the 
Place  du  Palais  de  Justice  as  a  public  curiosity ;  steal 
a  million,  and  you  are  received  in  good  society  and 
called  '  a  clever  fellow.'  And  you  pay  thirty  millions 
annually  to  the  law  courts  and  the  police  to  keep  up 
that  sort  of  morality  !  Pah !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  Ci  that 
Pere  Goriot  has  melted  up  his  silver-gilt  porringer?" 

"  Were  there  two  turtle-doves  on  the  cover  ?"  asked 
Eugene. 

"  Yes,  there  were." 

"  He  must  have  cared  for  it.  He  wept  when  he 
broke  it  up.  I  happened  to  see  him  —  by  chance," 
said  Eugene. 

"  He  did  care  for  it,  as  for  his  life,"  answered  Madame 
Vauquer. 

"  Now  see  the  force  of  passion ! "  said  Vautrin.  "  That 
woman  can  wring  his  very  soul." 

Eugene  went  up  to  his  own  chamber.  Vautrin  went 
out.  A  few  minutes  later  Macfeme  Couture  and  Victo- 
rine  got  into  a  hackney  coach  which  Sylvie  had  called. 
Poiret  gave  his  arm  to  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  and 
they  walked  off  together  to  wander  in  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes  during  the  fine  part  of  the  day. 

"  Don't  they  look  almost  married  ? "  said  Sylvie. 
"They  are  so  dried  up  that  if  they  knock  together, 
they  '11  make  sparks  like  flint  and  steel." 

"Look  out,  then,  for  Mademoiselle  Michonneau's 
shawl,  —  it  will  catch  like  tinder,"  observed  Madame 
Vauquer. 


Pere  Goriot.  61 


V. 


AT  four  o'clock,  when  Pere  Goriot  returned,  he  saw 
by  the  dim  light  of  two  smoky  lamps  Victorine  Taille- 
fer  sitting  silent  with  red  eyes,  while  Madame  Couture 
was  volubly  relating  the  result  of  the  visit  made  to  the 
father.  Tired  of  refusing  to  see  his  daughter  and  her 
old  friend,  Taillefer  had  granted  them  an  interview. 

"My  dear  lady,"  Madame  Couture  was  saying  to 
Madame  Vauquer,  "  would  you  believe  me,  he  did  not 
so  much  as  ask  Victorine  to  sit  down  ;  she  stood  all  the 
time  that  we  were  there.  He  told  me,  without  any 
anger,  but  sternly,  that  we  might  for  the  future  spare 
ourselves  the  trouble  of  coming;  that  mademoiselle 
(he  did  not  say  daughter)  only  injured  herself  by  per- 
sisting in  coming  after  him  —  once  a  year!  the  mon- 
ster !  He  said  that  as  Victorine's  mother  had  brought 
him  no  fortune,  her  daughter  was  not  entitled  to  ex- 
pect any;  in  short,  he  said  all  kinds  of  cruel  things 
which  made  the  poor  dear  cry.  She  flung  herself  at 
her  father's  feet,  and  found  courage  to  tell  him  that  she 
only  pressed  her  case  for  her  mother's  sake ;  that  she 
would  obey  him  without  a  murmur  if  he  would  only 
read  the  last  words  of  his  wife.  She  offered  him  the 
letter,  saying  the  most  touching  things  you  ever  heard. 
I  don't  know  where  she  got  them  ;  God  must  have  in- 
spired them,  for  the  poor  child  was  so  carried  away  that 


62  Pere  G-oriot. 

I,  as  I  listened  to  her,  wept  like  a  fool.  What  do  you 
suppose  that  brutal  man  did  while  she  was  speaking  ? 
He  pared  his  nails !  He  took  the  letter  which  his  poor 
wife  had  written  with  so  many  tears,  and  flung  it  into 
the  fire,  saying,  '  That 's  enough.'  He  tried  to  make  his 
daughter  get  up  from  her  knees  :  she  wanted  to  kiss  his 
hand,  but  he  would  not  let  her.  Was  n't  it  atrocious  ? 
His  great  booby  of  a  son  came  in  while  we  were  there, 
but  he  would  not  take  any  notice  of  his  sister." 

"  Can  such  monsters  be  ?  "  said  Pere  Goriot. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Madame  Couture,  paying  no 
attention  to  this  interruption,  "  father  and  son  walked 
off  together,  begging  me  to  excuse  them,  and  saying 
they  had  pressing  business.  So  ended  our  visit.  Well ! 
at  any  rate  he  has  seen  his  daughter.  I  don't  know  how 
he  can  refuse  to  acknowledge  her,  for  they  are  as  like 
as  two  raindrops." 

All  the  guests  now  came  in,  one  after  another,  wish- 
ing each  other  good  day,  and  interchanging  a  style  of 
jest  by  which  certain  classes  of  the  Parisian  world  keep 
up  a  spirit  of  drollery  of  which  sheer  nonsense  is  the 
principal  ingredient,  the  fun  being  chiefly  confined  to 
gesture  and  pronunciation.  This  sort  of  argot  varies 
continually.  The  best  joke  never  lasts  over  a  month. 
An  event  in  politics,  a  trial  in  the  criminal  courts,  a 
street  ballad,  or  an  actor's  jest,  sets  the  fun  afloat  and 
keeps  it  going ;  the  amusement  consisting,  above  all, 
in  treating  ideas  and  words  like  shuttlecocks,  and  ban- 
dying them  to  and  fro  with  the  utmost  rapidity. 

Just  at  this  time  the  invention  of  the  diorama,  an  ex- 
hibition which  carried  optical  illusion  beyond  that  of 
the  panorama,  had  set  the  artists  in  their  studios  to 


Pere  Croriot.  63 

ending  all  their  words  in  "rama."  The  fashion  had 
been  introduced  into  the  Maison  Vauquer  by  a  young 
painter,  one  of  the  dinner  guests. 

"  Well,  Monsieur-re  Poiret,"  s.iid  the  employe  at 
the  Museum,  "  how  goes  your  healthorama  ?  "  Then 
not  waiting  for  a  reply,  "  Ladies,"  he  said  to  Madame 
Couture  and  Victorine,  "I  regret  to  see  that  some- 
thing has  gone  wrong  with  you  to-day." 

"Are  we  going  to  diniare?"  cried  Horace  Bianchon, 
a  medical  student  and  a  friend  of  Rastignac;  "my 
little  stomach  has  gone  down  usque  ad  talones" 

"  It  is  a  regular  frostinorama"  said  Vautrin.  "Draw 
back  a  little,  Pere  Goriot;  your  foot  takes  up  the 
whole  front  of  the  stove." 

"  Illustrious  Vautrin,"  cried  Bianchon,  •"  why  do  you 
say  frostinorama  f  That 's  wrong  ;  you  should  say 
frostorama." 

"  No ! "  cried  the  employe  at  the  Museum, fo  it  is  frost- 
inorama. I  have  frost  in  my  toes." 

"Ha!  Ha!" 

"  Here  comes  his  excellency  the  Marquis  de  Ras- 
tignac, Doctor  of  Laws,"  cried  Bianchon,  catching 
Eugene  round  the  neck  and  hugging  him  till  he 
was  nearly  strangled. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !     Help,  all  of  you  !     Help  !     Oh ! " 

Mademoiselle  Miehonneau  here  entered  stealthily, 
bowed  silently  to  the  guests,  and  took  her  place  among 
the  ladies. 

"  That  old  bat  of  a  woman  makes  me  shiver," 
whispered  Bianchon  to  Vautrin.  "  I  am  studying 
phrenology,  and  I  tell  you  she  has  the  bumps  of 
Judas." 


64  Pere  Goriot. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  her?"  asked  Vautrin. 

"Nothing  but  what  I  see.  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor  that  her  lanky  whiteness  puts  me  in  mind 
of  those  long  worms  that  eat  their  way  through 
beams." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  she  is,  young  man,"  said  the 
man  of  forty,  pulling  his  whiskers:  — 

"  '  Rose,  she  has  lived  the  life  of  a  rose,  — 
The  space  of  a  summer's  day '  " 

" Here  comes  a  famous  souporama"  cried  Poiret,  as 
Christophe  entered  respectfully  bearing  the  tureen. 

"  Pardon  me,  Monsieur,"  said  Madame  Vauquer  ; 
"it  is  soupe  aux  choux  [cabbage  soup]." 

All  the  young  men  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Beaten,  Poiret !  " 

"  Poir-r-r-rette  is  done  for ! " 

"  Score  two  for  Mamma  Vauquer,"  cried  Yautrin. 

"  Did  any  one  notice  the  fog  this  morning?"  asked 
the  employe. 

"  It  was  a  fog  out  of  all  reason,"  cried  Bianchon  ; 
"  a  fog  without  a  parallel ;  a  dismal,  melancholy,  green, 
stupid  kind  of  a  fog,  —  a  fog  Goriot." 

"  Goriorama?  cried  the  painter;  "because  it  is  no 
go  when  you  want  to  see  through  it." 

"  Ha !  my  lord  Goriot ;  they  are  talking  of  you." 

Sitting  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  near  the  door 
opening  on  the  pantry,  Pere  Goriot  looked  up  at  this, 
smelling,  as  he  did  so,  at  the  piece  of  bread  placed 
under  his  napkin,  —  according  to  an  old  habit  in  sam- 
pling flour,  which  mechanically  reappeared  when  he 
forgot  himself  at  table. 


Ptre  6foriot.  65 

"  Well ! "  cried  Madame  Vauquer  sharply,  in  a  voice 
that  rose  above  the  general  clatter ;  "  don't  you  find 
the  bread  good  enough  for  you?" 

"  It  is  very  good,  Madame,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  is  made 
of  Etampes  flour,  first  quality." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  Eugene. 

"  By  it's  taste  ;  by  it's  color." 

"  By  the  taste  of  the  nose,  you  mean ;  for  you  have 
done  nothing  but  smell  it,"  said  Madame  Vauquer. 
"  You  are  getting  so  economical  that  by  and  by  you 
will  be  trying  to  get  your  meals  by  sniffing  the  smells 
of  the  kitchen." 

"  T;ike  out  a  patent  for  the  process,"  cried  the  em- 
ploye ;  "  you  will  make  your  fortune." 

"  Let  him  alone;  he  does  it  to  make  us  believe  he  real- 
ly has  been  engaged  in  selling  flour,"  said  the  painter. 

"  Is  your  nose  a  corn-chandler  ? "  asked  the  young 
man  from  the  Museum. 

"  Corn-what?"  said  Bianchon. 

"  Corn-market." 

"  Corn-stalk." 

"  Corn-starch." 

"  Corn-et." 

"  Corn-er." 

"  Corn-elian." 

"  Corn-ucopia." 

"  Corn-orama." 

These  eight  answers  rattled  from  all  parts  of  the 
table  like  a  volley  of  musketry,  and  made  everybody 
laugh,  —  all  the  more  when  poor  Pere  Goriot  looked 
round  with  an  air  of  utter  bewilderment,  like  a  man 
trying  to  make  out  some  meaning  in  a  foreign  tongue. 
5 


66  Pere  Goriot. 

"Cor?"  he  said  to  Vautrin,  who  sat  next  to  him. 

"Corn,  —  corns  on  your  toes,  old  gentleman,"  said 
Vautrin.  patting  him  on  the  head  in  such  a  way  as  to 
drive  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes. 

The  poor  old  man,  stupefied  by  this  brusque  attack, 
remained  motionless  for  a  moment,  during  which 
Christophe  carried  away  his  soup;  so  that  when  Pere 
Goriot,  having  taken  off  his  hat,  picked  up  his  spoon 
to  begin  his  dinner,  it  tapped  upon  the  table  instead 
of  a  plate.  All  present  burst  out  laughing. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  old  man,  "that  was  a  poor 
joke;  and  if  you  give  me  any  more  such  — " 

"Well,  what  then,  papa?"  said  Vautrin,  interrupt- 
ing him. 

"  Well,  you  shall  pay  dearly  for  it  some  day  — 

"Ah  !  in  the  infernal  regions,  —  that 's  it,"  said  the 
painter ;  "  in  the  little  black  hole  where  they  put 
naughty  children." 

"Well,  Mademoiselle!"  said  Vautrin,  addressing 
Victorine ;  "  you  seem  to  eat  nothing.  Was  your 
papa  refractory  to-day  ?  " 

"  He  was  horrible  ! "  said  Madame  Couture. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Vautrin ;  "  we  must  bring  him  to 
reason." 

Rastignac,  who  was  sitting  next  to  Bianchon,  said 
to  him  :  — 

"Mademoiselle  can't  bring  an  action  for  alimony, 
for  she  eats  nothing.  Eh !  eh  !  just  see  how  Pere 
Goriot  is  looking  at  her." 

The  old  man  had  stopped  eating  to  gaze  at  the 
young  girl,  whose  face  was  convulsed  with  grief,  — 
the  grief  of  a  child  repulsed  by  the  father  she  loves. 


Pere  Goriot.  67 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Rastignac  in  a  whisper,  "  we 
are  all  astray  about  Pere  Goriot.  He  is  neither  weak 
nor  imbecile.  Just  turn  a  phrenological  eye  on  him, 
and  tell  me  how  he  strikes  you.  I  saw  him  last  night 
twist  up  a  silver  dish  as  if  it  had  been  wax  ;  and  at 
this  very  moment  his  face  shows  that  his  mind  is  full 
of  strange  emotions.  His  life  seems  to  me  so  myste- 
rious that  it  might  be  worth  some  pains  to  study  him. 
Oh,  very  well,  Bianchon ;  you  may  laugh,  but  I  'm  not 
joking." 

"  I  grant  you  the  man  has  a  medical  interest ;  he  is 
a  case,"  said  Bianchon.  "  If  he  '11  let  me,  I  '11  dissect 
him." 

«  No,  —just  feel  his  head." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that ;  his  stupidity  might  be 
catchingr." 


68  Pere  Goriot. 


VI. 


THE  next  day  Rastignac,  elegantly  dressed,  started 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  to  call  upon  Ma- 
dame de  Restaud,  indulging  as  he  went  along  in  those 
adventurous  hopes  which  fill  the  lives  of  young  men 
with  varying  emotions.  In  moods  like  these  they  take 
no  account  of  obstacles  or  dangers ;  success  is  their  only 
vista ;  life  is  made  poetic  by  the  play  of  imagination, 
and  they  are  saddened  or  unhappy  by  the  overthrow 
of  projects  that  exist  only  in  their  unbridled  fancy.  If 
they  were  not  handicapped  by  their  ignorance  and 
their  timidity  this  social  world  of  ours  would  be  an 
impossibility.  Eugene  went  along  the  muddy  streets, 
taking  every  precaution  to  keep  his  boots  clean  ;  and 
as  he  walked  he  turned  over  in  his  mind  what  he 
should  say  to  Madame  de  Restaud,  —  providing  him- 
self with  the  repartees  and  witty  sayings  of  an  imagi- 
nary conversation,  rehearsing  phrases  a  la  Talleyrand, 
and  inventing  tender  scenes  favorable  to  his  project  of 
pushing  his  future  in  society.  He  did  get  his  boots 
muddy,  however,  and  had  to  have  them  blacked  and 
his  trousers  brushed  in  the  Palais-Royal.  "If  I  were 
rich,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  changed  a  five-franc 
piece  which  he  had  put  into  his  pocket  ("in  case  of 
accident"),  "I  should  have  driven  in  a  carriage  to  make 


Pere  Groriot.  69 

my  call,  and  could  have  thought  things  over  at  ray 
ease." 

At  last  he  reached  the  Rue  du  Helder,  and  asked  for 
Madame  de  Restaud.  With  the  silent  wrath  of  a  man 
certain  of  future  triumph,  he  noticed  the  impertinent 
looks,  of  the  lacqueys,  who  saw  him  crossing  the  court- 
yard on  foot  heralded  by  no  sound  of  cai'riage  wheels 
at  the  gate.  Those  looks  were  the  more  galling  be- 
cause already  he  had  been  smitten  by  a  sense  of  social 
inferiority  on  seeing,  as  he  entered  the  courtyard,  a 
fine  horse  in  glittering  harness  attached  to  one  of  those 
exquisite  cabriolets,  which  evince  the  luxury  of  extra- 
vagant existence  and  the  habit  of  taking  part  in  the 
pleasures  of  Parisian  life.  Eugene  grew  out  of  temper 
with  himself.  His  brains,  which  he  had  stored  with 
clever  sayings,  refused  to  work ;  he  became  stupid. 
While  waiting  to  know  if  the  countess  would  receive 
him,  he  stood  by  a  window  in  the  antechamber,  leaning 
his  arm  on  the  knob  of  its  fastening  and  looking  down 
mechanically  into  the  courtyard.  He  thought  he  was 
kept  waiting  a  long  time,  and  would  have  gone  away 
in  displeasure  had  he  not  been  gifted  with  that  southern 
tenacity  which  works  wonders  if  kept  to  a  straight 
line. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  footman,  "Madame  is  in  her 
boudoir,  and  is  very  much  occupied ;  she  did  not  an- 
swer me.  But  if  Monsieur  will  go  into  the  salon,  he 
will  find  some  one  there  who  is  also  waiting." 

Wondering  within  himself  at  the  power  possessed 
by  servants  to  judge  and  to  betray  their  masters  by  a 
word,  Rastignac  deliberately  opened  the  door  through 
which  the  man  had  just  passed,  wishing,  perhaps,  to 


70  Pere  Goriot. 

prove  to  the  lacqueys  in  attendance  that  he  knew  the 
ways  of  the  house.  But  he  brought  up  like  a  fool  in  a 
press-room,  full  of  lamps  and  wardrobes,  and  an  appa- 
ratus for  warming  bath-towels,  which  led  to  a  dark 
passage  and  some  back  stairs.  Smothered  sounds  of 
laughter  in  the  antechamber  behind  him  put  the  finish- 
ing stroke  to  his  confusion. 

"  Monsieur,  the  salon  is  this  way,"  said  the  footman, 
with  that  false  respect  which  is  the  last  touch  of 
impertinence. 

Eugene  stepped  back  with  such  precipitation  that 
he  knocked  against  a  bath-tub,  but  happily  held  fast  to 
his  hat  so  that  it  did  not  fall  into  the  water.  At  this 
moment  a  door  opened  at  the  end  of  the  dark  passage 
(which  was  lighted  by  a  lamp),  and  Rastignac  heard 
Madame  de  Restaud's  voice,  Pere  Goriot's  voice,  and 
the  sound  of  kisses.  He  went  back  into  the  ante- 
chamber, crossed  it,  followed  the  servant,  and  entered 
the  first  salon,  where  he  took  his  station  at  a  window 
which  he  saw  at  once  must  command  the  courtyard. 
He  wanted  to  see  if  Pere  Goriot  could  really  be  Pere 
Goriot.  His  heart  beat  violently  as  he  remembered 
the  horrible  insinuations  of  Vautrin.  The  footman 
stood  waiting  to  usher  him  through  the  door  of  an 
inner  drawing-room,  when  out  of  it  came  an  elegant 
young  man,  who  said  to  the  servant,  crossly,  — 

"  I  am  going,  Maurice ;  you  can  tell  Madame  la 
comtesse  that  I  waited  for  her  more  than  half  an 
hour." 

This  gay  young  man  of  fashion,  who  evidently  had 
the  right  of  entrance,  walked  on,  humming  an  Italian 
melody,  until  he  came  near  the  window  at  which 


Pere  Goriot.  71 

Eugene  was  standing.  He  tried  to  see  the  face  of  the 
student,  and  he  also  wished  to  get  a  glimpse  into  the 
courtyard. 

"  Monsieur  le  comte  had  better  stay  a  moment 
longer;  Madame  is  now  at  liberty,"  said  Maurice,  go- 
ing back  into  the  antechamber. 

At  this  moment  Pere  Goriot  came  out  of  the  house 
near  the  porte-cochere,  through  a  door  that  opened  from 
the  back  stair-case.  The  old  man  raised  his  umbrella, 
and  was  about  to  open  it  without  noticing  that  the 
gates  had  been  thrown  back  to  admit  a  young  man 
wearing  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  who  was 
driving  himself  in  a  tilbury.  Pere  Goriot  had  only 
time  to  step  backward  ;  a  moment  more  and  he  would 
have  been  run  over.  The  opening  of  the  umbrella  had 
frightened  the  horse,  which  shied,  and  then  dashed  for- 
ward to  the  steps  of  the  portico.  The  young  man 
looked  round  angrily,  saw  Pere  Goriot,  and  bowed  to 
him  with  the  constrained  civility  often  bestowed  upon 
a  money-lender  whom  it  is  advisable  to  propitiate,  or 
vouchsafed  to  some  smirched  man  reluctantly,  and  with 
an  after  sense  of  shame.  Pere  Goriot  returned  it  with 
a  little  friendly  nod,  full  of  kindness.  These  things 
passed  like  a  flash.  Too  absorbed  to  notice  that  be 
was  not  alone,  Eugene  suddenly  heard  the  voice  of 
Madame  de  Restaud. 

"  Maxirne,  are  you  going  ?  "  she  cried  in  a  tone  of 
reproach,  not  un mingled  with  vexation. 

The  countess  had  not  noticed  the  arrival  of  the  til- 
bury. Rastignac  turned  and  saw  her,  dressed  coquet- 
tishly  in  a  breakfast  gown  of  white  cashmere 'with  pink 
ribbons,  her  hair  put  up  with  the  simplicity  which  is 


72  P$re  Goriot. 

the  morning  fashion  of  Parisian  women.  A  fragrance 
diffused  about  her  seemed  to  suggest  that  she  had  just 
taken  her  bath  ;  her  eyes  were  limpid,  and  her  beauty 
was  softened  by  an  air  of  indolence  and  languor.  Young 
men  have  the  eyes  to  see  these  things ;  their  minds 
open  to  all  the  rays  of  a  woman's  charm  as  plants  as- 
similate from  the  air  they  breathe  the  substances  which 
give  them  life.  Eugene  felt  the  soft  freshness  of  her 
hands  without  touching  them ;  he  saw  through  the 
folds  of  her  cashmere  the  lines  of  her  beautiful  figure. 
She  needed  no  steels  or  lacings,  —  a  belt  alone  held  in 
her  flexible  and  rounded  waist ;  her  feet  were  pretty 
even  in  their  slippers. 

When  Maxime  raised  her  beautiful  hand  to  his  lips 
Eugene  for  the  first  time  perceived  Maxime,  and 
Madame  de  Restaud  perceived  Eugene. 

"  Ah  !  is  that  you,  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  ?  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said  in  a  tone  which  a  man 
of  the  world  would  have  accepted  as  a  dismissal. 

Maxime  looked  first  at  Eugene  and  then  at  the 
countess  with  an  expression  which  might  well  have  ex- 
pelled the  intruder.  "  What  impertinence ! "  it  seemed 
to  say  ;  "  my  dear,  I  hope  you  are  going  to  show  that 
puppy  the  door." 

Rastignac  took  a  violent  aversion  to  this  man.  In 
the  first  place,  the  blond  and  well-trimmed  head  of 
Maxime  m.-tde  him  ashamed  of  his  own  hair ;  then 
Maxima's  boots  were  elegant  and  spotless,  while  on 
his,  in  spite  of  all  his  care,  there  were  spots  of  mud. 
Maxime  wore  a  frock-coat,  which  fitted  him  round  the 
waist  like  the  corset  of  a  pretty  woman ;  Eugene,  on 
the  contrary,  was  wearing  a  black  coat  in  the  middle 


Pere  Goriot.  73 

of  the  afternoon.  The  clever  son  of  the  Charente  felt 
the  advantages  dress  gave  to  this  supercilious  dandy 
with  his  tall  slender  figure,  light  eyes,  and  pale  skin, — 
a  man,  he  thought  to  himsellj  capable  of  bringing  ruin 
on  the  fatherless. 

Meantime  Madame  de  Restaud,  without  waiting  for 
any  reply,  flitted  back  into  the  great  salon,  the  lappets 
of  her  dress  floating  backward  as  she  went,  in  a  way 
that  gave  her  the  appearance  of  a  butterfly  on  the 
wing.  Maxime  followed  her ;  Eugene,  in  a  savage 
mood,  followed  Maxime ;  and  all  three  stood  before 
the  fireplace  in  the  great  salon.  The  student  knew 
well  enough  that  he  was  in  the  way  of  that  odious 
Maxime ;  but  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  Madame 
de  Restaud,  he  was  determined  to  annoy  him.  Sud- 
denly he  remembered  seeing  the  young  man  at  Madame 
de  Beauseant's  ball,  and  guessed  what  might  be  his  rela- 
tions to  Madame  de  Restaud  ;  but  with  that  youthful 
audacity  which  makes  a  man  commit  great  follies  or 
secures  him  great  successes,  he  said  to  himself,  "  That 
man  is  my  rival.  I  will  put  him  out  of  my  way." 
Imprudent  youth !  He  did  not  know  that  Count 
Maxime  de  Trailles  was  a  dead  shot,  always  ready  to 
take  up  an  insult  and  kill  his  man.  Eugene  was  a  good 
sportsman,  but  he  could  not  hit  the  mark  nineteen 
times  out  of  twenty  in  a  shooting-gallery.  The  young 
count  threw  himself  into  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire, 
picked  up  the  tongs,  and  tossed  the  wood  about  in  so 
violent  and  savage  a  manner  that  the  fair  face  of  An- 
astasie  clouded  over  with  distress.  She  turned  to 
Eugene  and  gave  him  one  of  those  chill  interrogative 
looks  which  plainly  say,  "  Why  don't  you  go  away  ?  " 


74  Pere  Goriot. 

to  which  well-bred  people  at  once  reply  by  what  we 
may  call  the  phrases  of  leave-taking. 

Eugene,  however,  put  on  an  agreeable  manner,  and 
said,  "  Madame,  I  was  in  haste  to  see  you,  because  —  " 

He  stopped  short,  for  a  door  opened,  and  the  gentle- 
man who  had  driven  into  the  courtyard  entered  the 
room.  He  was  without  a  hat,  and  did  not  bow  to  the 
countess,  but  looked  attentively  at  Rastignac,  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  Max! me  saying,  "  Good  morning,"  with 
an  air  of  intimacy  which  greatly  surprised  Eugene. 

"Monsieur  de  Restaud, "  said  the  countess  to  the 
student,  motioning  towards  her  husband.  "  Monsieur," 
she  said,  presenting  Eugene  to  the  Comte  de  Restaud, 
"is  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  a  relative  of  Madame  de 
Beauseant,  through  the  Marcillacs.  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  him  at  her  ball." 

"  A  relative  of  Madame  de  Beauseant,  through  the 
Marcillacs"  —  these  words,  uttered  by  the  countess 
with  a  certain  emphasis  (for  a  lady  likes  to  make  known 
that  she  receives  only  those  who  are  people  of  dis- 
tinction), had  an  almost  magical  effect.  The  count 
lost  his  coldly  ceremonious  air,  and  bowed  to  the 
student. 

"  Delighted,  Monsieur,  to  be  able  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance," he  said  courteously. 

Even  Count  Maxime  de  Trailles,  casting  an  uneasy 
look  at  de  Rastignac,  abandoned  his  impertinent  man- 
ner. This  touch  of  a  fairy  wand,  the  magic  of  an  aris- 
tocratic name,  let  a  flood  of  light  into  the  brain  of  the 
young  southerner  and  gave  him  back  his  premeditated 
cleverness.  He  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse  into  the 
great  world  of  Paris,  hitherto  only  cloud-land  for  him, 


Pere  G-oriot.  75 

and  the  Maison  Vauquer  and  Pere  Goriot  vanished 
from  his  thoughts. 

" I  thought  the  Marcillacs  were  extinct?"  said  Mon- 
sieur cle  Restaud  to  Eugene. 

"  You  are  right,  Monsieur,"  he  replied ;  "  my  great- 
uncle,  the  Chevalier  de  Rastignac,  married  the  heiress 
of  the  house  of  Marcillac.  They  had  only  one  daughter, 
who  married  the  Marechal  de  Clarimbault,  Madame  de 
Beauseant's  grandfather  on  the  mother's  side.  We  are 
the  younger  branch  ;  all  the  poorer  for  the  fact  that  rny 
great  uncle,  the  Vice- Admiral,  lost  his  fortune  in  the 
service  of  the  King.  The  Revolutionary  government 
would  not  admit  our  claims  when  it  wound  up  the 
affairs  of  the  India  Company." 

"  Did  not  Monsieur,  your  great-uncle,  command  the 
'  Vengeur '  previous  to  1789  ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  Then  he  must  have  known  my  grandfather,  at  that 
time  commanding  the  '  Warwick.'  " 

Here  Maxime  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly  with  a 
glance  at  Madame  de  Restaud,  which  meant,  "  If  they 
begin  to  talk  of  naval  affairs  we  shall  not  get  a  word 
with  each  other." 

Anastasie  understood  the  look,  and  with  the  ease  of 
a  practised  woman  she  smiled  and  said,  "  Come  this 
way,  Maxime  ;  I  will  show  you  what  I  want  you  to  do 
for  me.  Gentlemen,  we  will  leave  you  to  sail  in  com- 
pany with  the  'Warwick'  and  the  'Vengeur.'" 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  making  a  treacherous  little 
sign  to  Maxime,  and  the  two  turned  to  leave  the  room. 
As  this  morganatic  couple  (morganatic  is  a  pretty  and 
expressive  German  word,  which  as  yet  has  no  equiva- 


76  Pere  Goriot. 

lent  in  the  French  language)  were  leaving  the  room, 
the   count   stopped    short    in    his    conversation   Witt 

Eugene. 

«  Anastasie,"  he  said  sharply,  "  don't  go,  my  dear  ; 

you  know  very  well  — " 

« I  shall  be  back  in  a  moment,"  she  said,  interrupt- 
ing what  he  was  about  to  say.  "  It  will  only  take  me 
a  Second  to  tell  Maxime  what  I  want  him  to  do." 

And  she  did  come  back.  Like  all  women  who  study 
the  character  of  their  husbands  that  they  may  be  able 
themselves  to  live  as  they  please,  she  knew  just  how 
far  she  could  go  without  straining  his  forbearance,  and 
was  careful  not  to  offend  him  in  the  lesser  things  of 
daily  life.  She  was  now  aware  from  the  tone  of  his 
voice  that  it  would  not  be  safe  to  prolong  her  absence. 
These  contretemps  were  due  to  Eugene.  The  countess 
expressed  this  by  a  glance  and  a  gesture  of  vexation  di- 
rected to  Maxime,  who  said  pointedly  to  the  count,  his 
wife,  and  de  Rastignac,  "  I  see  you  are  all  engaged. 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  in  your  way.  Adieu,"  and  he  left 
the  salon. 

«  Don't  go,  Maxime,"  cried  the  count. 
«  Come  to  dinner,"  said  the  countess,  leaving  Eugene 
and  the  count  together  for  the  second  time,  and  fol- 
lowing Maxime  into  the  outer  salon,  where  they  re- 
mained long  enough,  as  they  thought,  for  Monsieur  de 
Restaud  to  get  rid  of  his  visitor. 

Eugene  heard  them  laughing  together,  talking  and 
pausing  at  intervals ;  but  the  perverse  youth  continued 
his  conversation  with  Monsieur  de  Restaud,  nattering 
him  and  drawing  him  into  discussions  solely  that  he 
might  see  the  countess  again  and  find  out  the  secret 


Pere  Croriot.  7T 

of  her  relations  to  Pere  Goriot.  That  this  woman, 
evidently  in  love  with  Maxime,  yet  all-powerful  with 
her  husband,  should  be  secretly  connected  in  any  way 
with  the  old  paste-maker,  seemed  to  him  a  singular 
mystery.  He  was  resolved  to  penetrate  it.  It  might 
give  him,  he  thought,  some  power  over  a  woman  so 
eminently  Parisian,  that  might  serve  the  ends  of  his 
ambition. 

«  Anastasie,"  said  the  count,  again  calling  her. 
« Well,  Maxime,"  she  said  to  the  young  man,  "  we 
must  put  up  with  it.     This  evening  —  " 

«I  do  hope,  Nasie,"  he  whispered,  "that  you  will 
give  orders  never  to  admit  that  young  fool,  whose 
eyes  sparkle  like  live  coals  when  he  looks  at  you.  He 
will  make  love  to  you  and  compromise  you,  and  I 
shall  have  to  kill  him." 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Maxime,"  she  said ;  "these  little 
students  are,  on  the  contrary,  very  useful  —  as  light- 
ning-rods. Restaud  shall  be  the  man  to  deal  with 
him!" 

Maxime  laughed,  and  left  the  countess  standing  at 
the  window  to  see  him  get  into  his  cabriolet  and  flour- 
ish his  whip  over  the  champing  steed.  She  did  not 
come  back  till  the  outer  gates  were  closed. 

"Just  think,  my  dear,"  said  the  count,  as  she  en- 
tered ;  "  the  country-seat  of  Monsieur's  family  is  not 
far  from  Vertueil  on  the  Charente.  His  great-uncle 
and  my  grandfather  used  to  know  each  other." 

"Charmed  to  be  so  nearly  connected,"  said  the 
countess,  with  an  absent  manner. 

"Nearer,  perhaps,  than  you  think  for,"  said  Eugene 
in  a  low  voice. 


78  Pere  Goriot. 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  she  said  quickly. 

"Why,"  said  the  student,  "  I  have  just  seen  leaving 
your  house  some  one  whose  room  is  next  to  mine  in 
our  pension,  —  Pere  Goriot." 

At  the  jovial  word  "  Pere,"  so  disrespectfully  ap- 
plied, the  count,  who  was  mending  the  fire,  flung 
down  the  tongs  as  if  they  burned  his  fingers,  and 
started  from  his  chair. 

"Monsieur,  you  might  at  least  say  Monsieur 
Goriot,"  he  cried. 

The  countess  turned  pale  when  she  saw  her  hus- 
band's displeasure;  then  she  blushed,  and  was  evi- 
dently embarrassed.  She  replied  in  a  voice  which  she 
strove  to  render  natural,  and  with  an  air  of  assumed 
ease :  "  It  is  impossible  to  know  any  one  whom  we 
love  more."  Here  she  stopped ;  and  looking  at  her 
piano  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  she  said  :  — 

"Do  you  like  music,  Monsieur?  " 

"  Very  much,"  said  Eugene,  flushing,  and  stupefied 
by  a  confused  sense  that  he  must  have  committed 
some  enormous  blunder. 

"Do  you  sing?"  she  said,  going  to  the  piano  and 
running  a  brilliant  scale,  from  C  in  the  bass  to  F  in 
the  treble,  —  r-r-r-rah ! 

"No,  Madame." 

Monsieur  de  Restaud  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  That 's  a  pity ;  you  are  cut  off  from  one  great 
means  of  social  success.  Ca-ro,  ca-a-ro,  ca-a-a-ro,  non 
dubitare  !  "  sang  the  countess. 

By  pronouncing  the  name  of  Pere  Goriot,  Eugene 
had  for  the  second  time  waved  a  magic  wand  ;  but  its 


Pere  Goriot.  79 

effect  was  the  opposite  of  that  produced  by  the  words, 
"a  relation  of  Madame  de  Beauseant."  He  was  like  a 
man  introduced  by  favor  into  the  cabinet  of  a  collec- 
tor of  curios,  who  touching  thoughtlessly  a  case  full 
of  sculptured  figures,  knocks  off  by  accident  three  or 
four  heads  which  have  been  ill  glued  on.  He  felt 
like  jumping  into  an  abyss.  The  face  of  Madame  de 
Restaud  wore  an  expression  of  cold  and  hard  indif- 
ference, and  her  eyes  pointedly  avoided  his. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  "  I  leave  you  to  converse  with 
Monsieur  de  Restaud.  Be  pleased  to  accept  my  hom- 
age, and  permit  me  —  " 

"  Whenever  you  come  to  see  us,"  said  the  countess 
quickly,  cutting  him  short  by  a  gesture,  "you  will  be 
sure  of  giving  Monsieur  de  Restaud  and  myself  the 
greatest  pleasure." 

Eugene  bowed  low  to  husband  and  wife,  and  went 
out,  followed,  in  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  by  Mon- 
sieur de  Restaud,  who  accompanied  him  through  the 
antechamber. 

"  Whenever  that  gentleman  calls  again,"  said  the 
count  to  Maurice,  "  remember  that  Madame  and  I  are 
not  at  home." 

When  Eugene  came  out  on  the  portico  he  found 
that  it  was  raining. 

"  Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  have  made  some 
horrible  blunder,  —  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  nor  what 
it  may  lead  to  ;  and  now  I  am  going  to  spoil  my  hat 
and  clothes !  I  'd  better  have  stayed  at  home  grub- 
bing at  law,  and  contented  myself  with  being  a  coun- 
try magistrate.  How  am  I  to  go  into  the  world,  when 
to  get  along  with  decency  one  must  have  lots  of 


80  Pere  Goriot. 

things, —  cabriolets,  dress-boots,  riggings  that  are  ab- 
solutely indispensable,  gold  chains,  buckskin  gloves  for 
the  morning  that  cost  six  francs,  and  kid  gloves  for 
the  evening?  Old  rogue  of  a  Pere  Goriot,  —  vaf" 

When  he  found  himself  in  the  street  the  driver  of  a 
glass  coach,  who  had  probably  j"st  disposed  of  a  bri- 
dal party  and  was  ready  to  pick  up  a  fare  on  his  own 
account  before  returning  to  his  stable,  made  a  sign  to 
Eugene,  seeing  him  without  an  umbrella,  in  a  black 
coat,  white  waistcoat,  yellow  gloves,  and  varnished 
boots.  Eugene  was  in  one  of  those  blind  rages  which 
prompt  young  men  to  plunge  deeper  into  the  gulf 
they  have  fallen  into,  under  the  idea  of  finding  some 
lucky  way  of  getting  out.  He  signed  to  the  coach- 
man, and  got  into  the  carriage,  where  a  few  orange- 
blogsoms  and  scraps  of  silver  ribbon  attested  the  recent 
presence  of  a  bridal  party. 

"  Where  to,  Monsieur  ?  "  said  the  man,  who  had  taken 
off  his  white  gloves. 

"  Hang  it !  "  thought  Eugene,  "  since  I  am  in  for  it 
I  may  as  well  get  something  out  o£  it.  To  the  Hotel 
Beauseant,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  Which  one?  "  asked  the  coachman. 

This  question  wholly  confounded  our  embryo  man 
of  fashion,  who  was  not  aware  that  there  were  two 
Hotels  Beauseants,  and  did  not  know  how  rich  he  was 
in  grand  relations  to  whom  he  was  equally  unknown. 

"  Vicomte  cle  Beauseant,  Rue  —  " 

"  De  Crenelle,"  said  the  driver,  nodding  and  inter- 
rupting the  direction.  "You  see  there's  the  hotel  of 
the  Cpmte  and  the  Marquis  de  Beauseant,  Rue  Saint- 
Dominique,"  he  added,  putting  up  the  steps. 


Pere  Goriot.  81 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,"  said  Eugene  dryly.  "  Is  every- 
body laughing  at  me  to-day?"  he  said  to  himself,  an- 
grily flinging  his  hat  upon  the  seat  before  him.  "  I  'm 
launched  on  a  prank  which  is  going  to  cost  me  a  king's 
ransom.  But  at  least  I  '11  pay  a  visit  to  my  so-called 
cousin  in  a  style  that  is  solidly  aristocratic.  Pere 
Goriot  has  cost  me  not  less  than  ten  francs  —  the  old 
scoundrel !  Confound  it !  I  '11  tell  the  whole  story 
to  Madame  de  Beauseant ;  perhaps  it  will  make  her 
laugh.  She  may  know  what  bond  of  iniquity  unites 
that  old  rat  without  a  tail  to  his  beautiful  countess. 
I  had  better  on  the  whole  stick  to  my  cousin,  and  not 
run  after  that  shameless  woman ;  besides,  I  foresee 
it  would  be  horribly  expensive.  If  the  very  name 
of  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant  is  so  powerful,  what 
immense  weight  her  personal  influence  must  have! 
Aim  high,  and  put  your  trust  in  the  Lord ! " 

These  words  contain  the  substance  of  the  thousand 
and  one  thoughts  which  floated  through  his  mind.  He 
recovered  some  calmness  and  self-possession  as  he  saw 
the  rain  falling,  for  he  said  to  himself  that  if  he  was 
forced  to  part  with  two  of  his  precious  five-franc  pieces 
they  were  well  spent  in  saving  his  best  coat  and  hat 
and  boots.  He  heard,  with  a  touch  of  hilarity,  the 
coachman  call  "  Gate,  if  you  please  !  "  A  Suisse,  in  red 
livery  and  gold  lace,  made  it  swing  on  its  hinges,  and 
Rastignac,  with  much  complacency,  saw  his  carriage 
pass  in  under  the  archway,  turn  round  in  the  courtyard, 
and  draw  up  under  the  roof  of  the  portico.  The  coach- 
man, in  a  big  great-coat  of  blue  with  red  facings,  let 
down  the  steps.  As  he  got  out  of  the  carriage  Eugene 
heard  sounds  of  stifled  laughter  proceeding  from  the 
6 


82  Pere  Goriot. 

men-servants,  three  or  four  of  whom  were  watching 
the  bridal  coach  from  the  colonnade.  Their  mirth  en- 
lightened the  student,  who  now  compared  his  vulgar 
equipage  with  one  of  the  most  elegant  coupes  in  Paris, 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  bay  horses  with  roses  in  their  head- 
stalls, that  were  champing  their  bits  under  the  charge 
of  a  powdered  coachman  who  kept  a  tight  hand  on 
his  reins.  In  the  Chaussee  d'Antin  the  stylish  cabrio- 
let of  a  dandy  of  twenty-six  stood  in  the  courtyard  of 
Madame  de  Restaud,  while  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  waited,  in  all  the  pomp  of  a  grand-seigneur, 
an  equipage  that  thirty  thousand  francs  would  scarcely 
have  paid  for. 

"  Who  can  that  be?"  thought  Eugene,  beginning  to 
be  conscious  that  in  Paris  all  women  of  fashion  have 
their  private  engagements ;  and  that  the  conquest  of 
one  of  these  queens  of  society  might  cost  more  money 
than  blood. 

"  The  deuce  !  my  cousin  too  ma^  have  her  Maxime." 
He  went  up  the  broad  front  steps  with  a  sinking 
heart.  A  glass  door  opened  before  him,  and  he  found 
the  footmen  within  looking,  by  this  time,  as  solemn  as 
donkeys  under  the  curry-comb.  The  ball  had  been 
given  in  the  state  apartments  which  were  on  the 
ground-floor  of  the  hotel.  Having  had  no  time  to  call 
upon  his  cousin  between  the  invitation  and  the  ball,  he 
had  not  yet  penetrated  to  her  private  apartments,  and 
lie  was  now  to  see  for  the  first  time  those  marvels  of 
personal  elegance  which  indicate  the  habits  and  the 
tastes  of  a  woman  of  distinction,  —  a  study  all  the 
more  interesting  because  the  salon  of  Madame  de  Res- 
taud had  given  him  a  standard  of  comparison.  At 


Pere  Goriot.  83 

half-past  four  the  viscountess  was  visible ;  five  minutes 
earlier  he  would  not  have  been  admitted.  Eugene, 
who  knew  nothing  of  these  various  shades  of  Parisian 
etiquette,  was  shown  up  the  grand  staircase,  which  was 
banked  with  flowers  and  was  white  in  tone,  with  gilt 
balusters  and  a  red  carpet,  to  the  rooms  of  Madame  de 
Beauseant.  Although  she  was  his  cousin  he  knew 
nothing  of  her  biography,  and  was  not  aware  that  her 
affairs  were  at  this  time  passing  from  ear  to  ear  in  the 
salons  of  Paris. 


84  Pere  Goriot. 


VII. 

FOR  three  years  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant  had 
been  on  terms  of  great  intimacy  with  a  wealthy  and 
celebrated  Portuguese  nobleman,  the  Marquis  d'Ad- 
juda-Pinto.  It  was  one  of  those  innocent  friendships 
which  have  so  great  a  charm  for  those  who  are  thus 
allied  that  they  cannot  endure  to  share  the  companion- 
ship with  others.  The  Yicomte  de  Beauseant  himself 
set  the  example  of  respecting,  willingly  or  unwillingly, 
this  Platonic  intimacy.  Visitors  who  in  the  early  days 
of  the  alliance  came  to  call  upon  the  viscountess  at  two 
o'clock  always  found  the  Marquis  d'Acljuda-Pinto  in 
her  salon.  Madame  de  Beauseant  was  not  a  woman 
to  close  her  doors  to  society ;  but  she  received  her 
visitors  so  coldly,  and  her  manner  was  so  preoccupied, 
that  they  soon  found  out  they  were  in  her  way  at  that 
hour.  When  it  was  understood  in  Paris  that  Madame 
de  Beauseant  preferred  not  to  receive  visitors  between 
two  and  four  o'clock,  she  was  left  in  peace  at  those 
hours.  She  went  to  the  Bouffons  or  the  opera  accom- 
panied by  Monsieur  cle  Beauseant  and  Monsieur  d'Ad- 
juda-Pinto ;  but  Monsieur  de  Beauseant  had  the  tact  to 
leave  his  wife  with  her  friend  the  Portuguese  after  he 
had  established  her  for  the  evening.  Monsieur  d'Ad- 
juda  was  now  about  to  be  married.  lie  was  engaged 
to  a  Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide  ;  and  in  all  society 


Pere  Groriot.  85 

there  was  but  one  person  who  knew  nothing  of  this  en- 
gagement. That  one  was  Madame  de  Beauseant.  Some 
of  her  friends  had  indeed  vaguely  alluded  to  the  event 
as  possible ;  but  she  had  laughed,  believing  that  they 
wished  to  trouble  a  happiness  of  which  they  were  jeal- 
ous. The  banns,  however,  were  on  the  eve  of  being 
published  ;  and  the  handsome  Portuguese  had  come  to 
tell  the  viscountess  on  the  day  of  which  we  write,  but 
had  not  yet  dared  to  put  his  treachery  into  words. 
There  is  nothing  a  man  dreads  more  than  to  break  to 
a  woman  the  inevitable  end  of  their  relations.  He 
would  rather  defend  himself  against  another  man's 
rapier  pointed  at  his  throat  than  meet  the  reproaches 
of  a  woman,  who,  after  beAvailing  her  wrongs  for  hours, 
faints  at  his  feet,  and  asks  for  salts.  At  this  moment 
Monsieur  d'Adjuda-Pinto  sat  on  thorns  and  was  think- 
ing of  taking  leave,  saying  to  himself  that  Madame 
de  Beauseant  would  surely  hear  the  news  from  others ; 
that  he  would  write  to  her  ;  and  that  it  would  be  easier 
to  administer  the  fatal  stab  by  letter.  When,  there- 
fore, the  footman  announced  Monsieur  de  Rastignac, 
Monsieur  d'Adjuda-Pinto  made  a  slight  gesture  of 
relief.  Alas!  a  loving  woman  is  more  ingenious  in 
perceiving  her  wrongs  than  in  varying  pleasures  for 
the  man  she  loves.  When  about  to  be  forsaken,  her 
instinct  divines  the  meaning  of  a  gesture  as  unerr- 
ingly as  Virgil's  courser  divined  in  distant  pastures 
the  presence  of  his  mares.  Therefore  we  may  be  sure 
that  Madame  de  Beauseant  saw  and  understood  that 
slight  yet  significant  movement  of  relief. 

Eugene  had  not  yet   learned  that  before  entering 
society  in  Paris  a  man  should  inform  himself,  through 


86  Pere  Goriot. 

some  friend  of  each  family,  about  the  history  of  hus- 
band, wife,  and  children,  lest  he  commit  any  of  those 
gross  blunders  which  require  him,  as  they  say  in  Po- 
land, to  "  harness  oxen  to  his  carriage,"  —  meaning, 
doubtless,  that  the  force  of  an  ox-team  alone  can  drag 
the  blunderer  out  of  the  mud-hole  into  which  he  has 
plunged.  If  as  yet  there  is  no  term  in  the  French 
language  for  such  conversational  mistakes,  it  is  be- 
cause they  are  practically  impossible  for  Parisians  by 
reason  of  the  publicity  which  all  kinds  of  scandal  in- 
stantly obtain.  After  having  gone  heels  over  head 
into  the  mire  at  Madame  de  Restaud's,  where  he  had 
no  chance  to  harness  his  oxen,  it  seemed  likely  that 
our  provincial  might  yet  need  the  services  of  a  team- 
ster by  presenting  himself  at  an  equally  inopportune 
moment  at  Madame  de  Beauseant's.  However,  if  his 
visit  had  been  horribly  annoying  to  Madame  de  Res- 
taud  and  Monsieur  cle  Trailles,  he  was  now,  on  the 
contrary,  most  welcome  to  Monsieur  d'Adjuda. 

"  Adieu,"  said  this  gentleman,  making  for  the  door 
as  Eugene  was  shown  into  the  charming  inner  draw- 
ing-room, all  rose  and  gray,  combining  luxury  with 
elegance. 

"  But  this  evening  ?  "  said  Madame  de  Beauseant, 
turning  from  Eugene  and  looking  after  Adjuda ;  "  are 
we  not  going  to  the  Bouffons?" 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  door- 
knob. 

Madame  de  Beauseant  rose  and  called  him  back, 
without  paying  the  least  attention  to  Eugene,  who 
was  left  standing,  bewildered  by  the  sparkle  of  great 
wealth,  —  the  reality,  to  his  mind,  of  the  "  Arabian 


Pere  Groriot.  87 

Nights.'  — and  much  embarrassed  to  know  what  to  do 
with  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  woman  who  took  no 
notice  of  him.  Madame  de  Beauseant  lifted  her  right 
forefinger,  and  by  a  graceful  gesture  signed  to  the 
marquis  to  come  back  to  her.  There  was  something 
so  passionately  imperative  in  her  air  that  he  let  go  the 
handle  of  the  door  and  came  back  into  the  salon.  Eu- 
gene looked  at  him  with  eyes  of  envy. 

"  That 's  the  man  who  owns  the  coupe,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "Must  one  have  blood  horses,  and  liveries 
all  covered  with  gold  lace,  to  make  one's  way  in  Paris 
with  a  fashionable  woman  ?" 

The  devil  Belial  bit  into  his  mind;  the  fever  of 
money-getting  was  in  his  veins ;  the  thirst  for  gold 
parched  his  heart.  He  had  one  hundred  and  thirty 
francs  left,  to  last  him  three  months.  His  father, 
mother,  brothers,  sisters,  and  aunt  had  but  two  hun- 
dred francs  a  month  among  them  all.  This  rapid 
comparison  of  the  realities  of  his  position  with  the  end 
that  he  was  planning  to  attain,  staggered  him. 

"  Why  cannot  you  go  to  the  theatre  ?  "  said  the  vis- 
countess, smiling. 

"I  have  business.  I  dine  with  the  English  ambas- 
sador." 

"  But  you  can  come  away  early." 

When  a  man  deceives,  he  is  forced  to  prop  one  false- 
hood by  another.  Monsieur  d'Adjuda  answered, 
smiling,  — 

"  You  insist,  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  Ah !  that  was  just  what  I  wanted  to  make  you 
say!"  he  replied,  giving  her  a  look  sufficient  to  reas- 


88  Pere  Goriot. 

sure  any  other  woman.  He  took  her  hand,  kissed  it, 
and  went  out. 

Eugene  passed  his  fingers  through  his  hair  and 
turned  toward  Madame  de  Beauseant  to  make  his 
bow,  thinking  she  would  now  give  her  attention  to 
him.  To  his  surprise,  she  sprang  from  her  chair,  ran 
into  the  gallery,  and  looked  out  at  Monsieur  d'Adjuda 
as  he  got  into  his  carriage.  She  listened  for  his  or- 
ders, and  heard  the  chasseur  repeating  to  the  coach- 
man, "To  Monsieur  de  Rochefide's." 

These  words,  and  the  way  d'Adjuda  plunged  into 
his  coupe,  were  like  a  flash  of  lightning  and  a  thunder- 
clap to  the  poor  woman.  She  drew  back  sick  with 
dread.  The  worst  catastrophes  in  the  great  world 
take  place  thus  quietly  and  suddenly.  The  viscountess 
turned  aside  into  her  bed-room,  took  a  dainty  sheet  of 
note-paper,  and  wrote  as  follows  :  "  When  you  have 
dined  at  the  Rochefide's  (and  not  at  the  English 
ambassador's),  you  owe  me  an  explanation.  I  shall 
expect  you."  After  straightening  a  few  letters  made 
illegible  by  the  trembling  of  her  hand,  she  added  a 
C,  which  meant  "  Claire  de  Bourgogne,"  and  rang  the 
bell. 

"Jacques,"  she  said  to  her  footman,  "at  half-past 
seven  take  this  note  to  Monsieur  de  Rochefide's,  and 
ask  for  the  Marquis  d'Adjuda.  If  he  is  there,  have 
the  note  taken  to  him  at  once.  There  is  no  answer. 
If  he  is  not  there,  bring  it  back  to  me." 

"  Madame  la  vicorntesse  has  a  visitor  in  the  salon.1' 

"  Yes,  true,"  she  said,  closing  the  door. 

Eugene  began  to  feel  very  ill  at  ease  ;  but  Madame 
de  Beauseant  at  last  came  in  and  said  in  a  voice  whose 


Pere  Goriot.  89 

emotion  thrilled  him  to  the  heart,  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Monsieur;  I  had  to  write  a  few  words.  Now  I  ana 
quite  at  your  service." 

She  did  not  know  what  she  was  saying.  She  was 
thinking,  "Ah !  he  must  be  going  to  marry  Mademoi- 
selle de  Rochefide.  But  will  he?  Can  he?  To-night 
this  marriage  shall  be  broken  off,  or  I  —  But,  no  !  it 
shall  be!" 

"  Cousin,"  said  Eugene. 

"Hein?"  said  the  viscountess,  giving  him  a  look 
whose  cold  displeasure  froze  his  very  blood.  He  under- 
stood her  exclamation,  for  he  had  learned  much  during 
the  last  few  hours,  and  his  mind  was  on  the  alert. 

"  Madame,"  he  resumed,  coloring ;  he  stopped  short, 
and  then  continued,  "forgive  me;  I  need  help  so 
much,  —  and  this  little  shred  of  relationship  would  be 
everything  to  me." 

Madame  de  Beauseant  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  sad. 

"If  you  knew  the  situation  of  my  family,"  he  con- 
tinued, "I  think  you  would  find  pleasure  in  playing 
the  part  of  a  fairy  godmother  who  removes  all  difficul- 
ties out  of  the  way  of  her  godchild." 

"  Well,  cousin,"  she  said  laughing,  "  what  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  To  be  acknowledged  as  your 
relative,  though  the  link  is  so  far  back  as  to  be  scarcely 
visible,  is  in  itself  a  fortune.  I  am  confused, —  I  don't 
know  what  I  had  to  say  to  you.  You  are  the  only 
person  whom  I  know  in  Paris.  Ah !  I  ask  your  advice; 
look  on  me  as  you  might  on  some  poor  child  clinging 
to  your  dress,  —  as  one  who  would  die  for  you." 

"  Would  you  kill  a  man  for  my  sake  ?  " 


90  Pere  Goriot. 

u  I  would  kill  two ! "  exclaimed  Eugene. 

"  Foolish  boy  !  —  for  boy  you  are,"  she  said,  repress- 
ing her  tears.  "  You  could  love  truly,  faithfully  ?  " 

"Ah  !"  he  replied,  throwing  back  his  head. 

The  viscountess  felt  a  sudden  interest  in  the  youth, 
and  smiled  at  his  answer.  This  son  of  the  south  was 
at  the  dawn  of  his  ambition.  As  he  passed  from  the 
blue  boudoir  of  Madame  de  Restaud  to  the  rose-colored 
drawing-room  of  Madame  de  Beauseant  he  had  taken 
a  three-years'  course  in  the  social  code  of  Paris,  —  a 
code  never  formulated  in  words,  but  constituting  a  high 
social  jurisprudence,  which,  if  well  studied  and  well 
applied,  leads  to  fortune. 

"  Already,"  said  Eugene,  "  I  was  attracted  at  your 
ball  by  Madame  de  Restaud,  and  this  morning  I  went 
to  call  upon  her." 

"  You  must  have  been  very  much  in  her  way,"  re- 
marked Madame  de  Beauseant. 

"Indeed  I  was.  I  am  an  ignoramus  who  will  set 
everybody  against  him  if  you  refuse  to  help  me.  I 
think  it  must  be  difficult  in  Paris  to  find  a  young,  beau- 
tiful, rich,  and  elegant  woman  who  is  not  already  occu- 
pied by  the  attachment  of  some  man.  I  need  one  who 
will  teach  me  what  you  women  know  far  better  than 
we  do,  —  life.  Unless  you  guide  me  I  shall  be  forever 
stumbling  on  some  Maxime  de  Trailles.  I  have  come 
to  ask  you  in  the  first  place  to  solve  a  riddle  and  ex- 
plain to  me  the  nature  of  a  blunder  I  have  committed 
at  Madame  de  Restaud's.  I  mentioned  a  Pere  —  " 

"Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Langeais,"  said  Jacques, 
cutting  short  Eugene's  words.  He  made  a  gesture  as 
if  greatly  annoyed  by  the  interruption. 


Pere  G-oriot.  91 

"  If  you  wish  to  succeed  in  society,"  said  Madame 
de  Beauseant,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  must  begin  by  be- 
ing less  demonstrative. — Ah,  good  morning,  dear," 
she  cried,  rising  and  going  to  meet  the  duchess,  whose 
hands  she  pressed  tenderly,  while  the  duchess  responded 
by  fond  little  caresses. 

"They  are  dear  friends,"  thought  Rastignac;  "heart 
answers  to  heart.  I  shall  have  two  protectoresses,  both 
taking  interest  in  my  future." 

"  To  what  happy  thought  do  I  owe  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  to-day,  dear  Antoinette  ?  "  said  Madame  de 
Beauseant. 

"I  saw  Monsieur  d'Adjuda-Pinto  going  into  Mon- 
sieur de  Rochetide's,  and  I  knew  that  I  should  find 
you  alone." 

Madame  de  Beauseant  did  not  bite  her  lips,  nor 
blush,  nor  did  the  expression  of  her  face  change ;  on 
the  contrary  her  bi'ow  seemed  to  clear  as  Madame  de 
Langeais  uttered  the  fatal  words. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  engaged  —  "  added  the 
duchess,  glancing  at  Eugene. 

"  Monsieur  is  Monsieur  Eugene  de  Rastignac,  one  of 
my  cousins,"  said  Madame  de  Beauseant.  "  Have  you 
heard,"  she  continued,  "  of  General  Montriveau  lately  ? 
Serizy  told  me  yesterday  that  no  one  sees  him  now. 
Has  he  been  with  you  to-day  ?  " 

People  said  that  the  Marquis  de  Montrivean  had 
broken  with  Madame  de  Langeais,  who  was  deeply  in 
love  with  him.  She  felt  the  intended  stab,  and  blushed 
as  she  answered,  «  He  was  at  the  Elysee  yesterday." 

"  On  duty  ?  "  asked  Madame  de  Beauseant. 

"  Clara,  of  course  you  know,"  said  the  duchess,  spite 


92  Pere  Goriot. 

gleaming  in  her  eyes,  "  that  to-morrow  the  banns  are 
to  be  published  between  Monsieur  d'Adjuda-Pinto  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide." 

This  blow  struck  home.  The  viscountess  grew  pale, 
but  she  answered,  laughing,  — 

"That  is  merely  a  piece  of  gossip  set  afloat  by 
people  who  know  nothing.  Why  should  Monsieur 
d'Adjuda-Pinto  ally  one  of  the  noblest  names  in  Por- 
tugal with  that  of  the  Rochefkles  ?  Their  title  dates 
from  yesterday." 

"  They  say  Berthe  will  have  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  a  year." 

"  Monsieur  d'Adjuda  is  too  rich  to  marry  for  money." 

"But,  my  dear  Clara,  Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide  is 
charming." 

«  Ah ! " 

"  He  dines  there  to-day ;  the  settlements  are  drawn  ; 
I  am  astonished  that  no  one  has  told  you." 

"  What  was  that  blunder  you  were  telling  me  about, 
Monsieur  ? "  said  Madame  de  Beauseant,  turning  to 
Eugene.  "  Poor  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  has  so  re- 
cently entered  the  gay  world,  dear  Antoinette,"  she 
continued,  "  that  he  cannot  understand  our  conversa- 
tion. Be  good  to  him,  and  put  off  all  you  have  to  say 
about  this  news  until  to-morrow.  To-morrow  we  shall 
know  it  officially,  and  you  can  be  just  as  officious  then, 
you  know." 

The  duchess  gave  Eugene  one  of  those  ineffable 
looks  which  envelop  a  man  from  head  to  foot,  strike 
him  flat,  and  let  him  drop  to  zero. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  without  knowing  what  I  was 
about,  I  seem  to  have  plunged  a  dagger  into  the  heart 


Pere  G-oriot.  93 

of  Madame  de  Restaud.  Had  I  done  this  on  purpose 
I  might  not  have  been  in  disgrace  ;  my  fault  lay  in  not 
knowing  what  I  was  doing."  Eugene's  natural  clever- 
ness made  him  conscious  of  the  bitterness  underlying 
the  affectionate  words  of  the  two  ladies.  "  People," 
he  added,  "  do  not  break  with  the  friend  who  inten- 
tionally wounds  them,  though  they  may  fear  him  for 
the  future.  But  he  who  wounds  unconsciously  is  a 
poor  fool,  —  a  man  of  too  little  tact  to  turn  anything 
to  profit,  and  every  one  despises  him." 

Madame  de  Beauseant  gave  the  student  a  look  that 
expressed  her  gratitude,  and  yet  was  full  of  dignity. 
This  glance  was  balm  to  the  wound  inflicted  by  the 
duchess  when  she  looked  him  over  and  over  with  the 
eye  of  a  detective. 

"About  my  blunder  —  you  must  know,"  resumed 
Eugene,  "that  I  had  succeeded  in  securing  the  good- 
will of  Monsieur  de  Restaud,  for — "  turning  to  the 
duchess  with  a  manner  partly  humble,  partly  mischiev- 
ous, "  I  ought  to  inform  you,  Madame,  that  I  am  as 
yet  only  a  poor  devil  of  a  law-student,  very  lonely, 
very  poor  —  " 

"  Never  say  so,  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  ;  we  women 
do  not  value  that  which  is  not  valued  by  others." 

"  But,"  said  Eugene,  "  I  am  only  twenty-two,  and  I 
must  learn  to  put  up  with  the  natural  misfortunes  of 
my  age.  Besides,  I  am  making  my  confession  :  could 
I  kneel  in  a  more  charming  confessional  ?  Here  we 
commit  the  sins  for  which  we  receive  penance  in 
the  other." 

The  duchess  listened  to  these  irreligious  remarks  with 
studied  coldness,  and  marked  her  sense  of  their  bad 


94  Pere  G-oriot. 

taste  by  saying  to  the  viscountess  :  "  Monsieur  has 
just  arrived  ?  " 

Madame  de  Beauseant  laughed  heartily  both  at  her 
cousin  and  at  the  duchess.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  he  has 
just  arrived  in  Paris,  my  dear,  in  search  of  a  precep- 
tress to  teach  him  taste  and  manners." 

"  Madame  la  duchesse,"  said  Eugene,  "  is  it  not  per- 
missible to  try  to  possess  ourselves  of  the  secrets  of 
those  who  charm  us  ? —  There  !  "  he  said  to  himself  ; 
"now  I  am  talking  just  like  a  hair-dresser — " 

"But  I  have  heard  that  Madame  de  Restaud  is  a 
pupil  of  Monsieur  de  Trailles,"  said  the  duchess. 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  Madame,"  resumed  the  student ; 
"  and  like  a  fool  I  broke  in  upon  them.  However,  I 
was  getting  on  very  well  with  the  husband,  and  the 
wife  had  apparently  made  up  her  mind  to  put  up  with 
me,  when  I  must  needs  tell  them  that  I  recognized  a 
man  whom  I  had  just  seen  leave  their  house  by  a  bnck 
door,  and  who  kissed  the  countess  at  the  end  of  the 
passage  —  " 

"  Who  was  it?"  exclaimed  both  ladies  at  once. 

"  An  old  man,  who  lives  for  two  louis  a  month  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Marc,eau,  where  I,  a  poor  student,  live 
myself ;  a  forlorn  old  man,  whom  we  all  ridicule  and 
call  Pere  Goriot." 

"Oh,  child  that  you  are !"  exclaimed  the  viscount- 
ess ;  "  Madame  de  Restaud  was  a  Mademoiselle 
Goriot." 

"Daughter  of  a  man  who  makes  vermicelli,"  said 
the  duchess;  "a  person  who  was  presented  at  court 
on  the  same  day  as  a  pastry-cook's  daughter.  Don't 
you  remember,  Clara  ?  The  king  laughed,  and  said  a 


Pere  Goriot.  95 

good  thing  in  Latin  about  flour — people  —  how  was 
it  ?  People  —  " 

u  JEjusdem  farince"  suggested  Eugene. 

"  That  was  it ! "  said  the  duchess. 

"  And  so  he  is  really  her  father  ? "  exclaimed  the 
student,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"  Just  so ;  the  man  had  two  daughters,  and  was 
quite  foolish  about  them.  Both  of  them  have  since 
cast  him  off." 

"  The  youngest,"  said  Madame  de  Beauseant,  ad- 
dressing Madame  de  Langeais,  "  is  married,  is  she  not, 
to  a  banker  with  a  German  name,  —  a  Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen  ?  Is  not  her  name  Delphine,  —  a  fair  woman, 
who  has  a  side  box  at  the  opera,  and  who  comes  to 
the  Bouffons,  and  laughs  a  great  deal  to  attract 
attention  ?  " 

The  duchess  smiled  as  she  answered,  "My  dear, 
you  astonish  me.  Why  do  you  care  to  know  about 
such  people  ?  A  man  must  be  madly  in  love,  as  they 
say  Restaud  was  with  Mademoiselle  Anastasie,  to 
powder  himself  with  flour.  Ah  !  but  he  made  a  poor 
bargain!  She  has  fallen  into  Monsieur  de  Trailles' 
hands,  and  he  will  ruin  her." 

"Did  you  say  that  they  have  cast  off  their  father?" 
asked  Eugene. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  their  father,  the  father,  a  father," 
cried  the  viscountess  ;  "  a  good  father,  who  gave  these 
daughters  all  he  had,  —  to  each  of  them  seven  or 
eight  hundred  thousand  francs,  —  that  he  might  secure 
their  happiness  by  great  marriages,  and  kept  for  him- 
self only  eight  or  ten  thousand  francs  a  year ;  thinking 
that  his  daughters  would  remain  his  daughters,  —  that 


96  Pere  Q-oriot. 

he  would  have  two  homes  in  his  old  nge,  two  families 
where  he  would  be  adored  and  taken  care  of.  Before 
three  years  were  over,  both  sons-in-law  cast  him  out 
as  if  he  had  been  the  veriest  wretch  living  — 

Tears  gathered  in  the  eyes  of  Eugene  de  Rastignac, 
who  had  recently  renewed  the  pure  and  sacred  ties  of 
home,  and  still  clung  to  the  beliefs  of  his  boyhood. 
He  was  making  his  first  encounter  with  the  world  on 
the  battle-field  of  Parisian  civilization.  Real  feeling 
is  contagious ;  and  for  a  moment  all  three  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  Madame  de  Langeais ;  "  it 
seems  horrible ;  and  yet  we  see  the  same  thing  every 
day.  And  why?  My  dear  Clara,  have  you  never 
thought  what  it  would  be  to  have  a  son-in-law?  A 
son-in-law  is  a  man  for  whom  we  may  bring  up  —  you 
or  I  —  a  dear  little  creature  to  whom  we  should  be 
bound  by  a  thousand  tender  ties ;  who  for  seventeen 
years  would  be  the  darling  of  the  family,  —  'the  white 
soul  of  her  home,'  as  Lamartine  says,  —  and  who  might 
end  by  becoming  its  curse.  When  the  man  for  whom 
we  brought  her  up  takes  her  away,  he  will  use  her  love 
for  him  as  an  axe  to  cut  her  free  from  every  tie  that 
binds  her  to  her  family.  Yesterday  our  little  daugh- 
ter was  our  own,  and  we  were  all  in  all  to  her ;  to- 
morrow she  will  seem  to  be  our  enemy.  Don't  we 
see  such  tragedies  around  us  every  day?  The  daugh- 
ter-in-law coolly  impertinent  to  the  father  who  has 
sacrificed  everything  for  her  husband,  the  son-in-law 
thrusting  his  wife's  mother  out  of  doors  ?  I  hear  peo- 
ple say  that  there  is  nothing  dramatic  now-a-days  in 
society.  Why,  this  drama  of  the  son-in-law  is  horrible, 


Pere  Goriot.  97 

—  not  to  speak  of  o\ir  marriages,  which  have  become 
sad  follies,  to  say  the  least.  I  perfectly  recollect  the 
history  of  that  vermicelli  man,  Foriot  —  " 

"  Goriot,  Madame." 

"Yes,  true;  JVIoribt  was  president  of  his  section 
during  the  Revolution.  He  was  behind  the  scenes, 
and  when  the  great  scarcity  was  at  hand  he  made  his 
fortune  by  selling  flour  for  ten  times  what  it  cost  him. 
My  grandmother's  bailiff  sold  him  wheat  to  an  im- 
mense amount.  Goriot  no  doubt  divided  his  profits  — 
as  all  those  people  did  —  with  the  Committee  of  Pub- 
lic Safety.  I  recollect  the  bailiff  saying  to  my  grand- 
mother that  she  might  feel  quite  safe  at  Grandvilliers, 
because  her  crops  were  an  excellent  certificate  of  citi- 
zenship. Well !  this  Loriot,  who  sold  flour  to  the  men 
who  cut  our  heads  off,  had  but  one  passion,  —  he  adored 
his  daughters.  He  contrived  to  perch  the  eldest  in 
the  Restaud  family,  and  graft  the  other  on  the  Baron 
de  Nucingen,  —  a  rich  banker  who  pretends  to  be  a 
Royalist.  You  understand  that  during  the  Empire 
the  sons-in-law  did  not  so  much  mind  having  the  old 
Jacobin  of  '93  under  their  roof :  under  Bonaparte 
what  did  it  signify  ?  But  when  the  Bourbons  came 
back,  the  old  man  was  a  great  annoyance  to  Monsieur 
de  Restaud,  and  still  more  so  to  the  banker.  The 
daughters,  who  for  aught  I  know  may  have  been  fond 
of  their  father,  tried  to  'run  with  the  hare  and  hold 
with  the  hounds,'  as  we  say.  They  asked  Goriot  to 
their  houses  when  they  had  nobody  there  ;  invented, 
I  have  no  doubt,  pretty  pretexts :  '  Oh,  do  come, 
papa !  It  will  be  so  pleasant :  we  shall  have  you  all 
to  ourselves,'  —  and  so  on.  My  dear,  I  always  main- 


98  Pere  Goriot. 

tain  that  real  feeling  is  sharp-sighted  ;  if  so,  poor  old 
'93's  heart  must  have  bled.  He  saw  that  his  daughters 
were  ashamed  of  him,  and  that  if  they  loved  their 
husbands  he  was  injuring  them.  He  saw  the  sacrifice 
which  was  required  of  him,  and  he  made  it,  —  made 
it  as  only  a  father  can.  He  sacrificed  himself ;  he 
banished  himself  from  their  homes ;  and  when  he  saw 
his  daughters  happy  he  was  satisfied.  Father  and 
daughters  were  accomplices  in  this  crime  against  pa- 
ternity. We  see  this  sort  of  thing  every  day.  You 
can  well  imagine  Pere  Doriot  to  have  been  like  a  spot 
of  cart-grease  in  his  daughters'  drawing-rooms.  He 
would  have  felt  it  himself,  and  suffered  from  it.  What 
happened  to  him  as  a  father,  my  dear,  happens  to  the 
prettiest  woman  in  the  world  with  the  man  she  loves 
best.  If  her  love  wearies  him  he  will  go  elsewhere, 
and  will  treat  her  like  a  coward  to  get  away.  That  is 
the  upshot  of  all  extravagant  attachments.  The  heart 
is  a  treasury  :  empty  it  all  at  once,  and  you  will  find 
yourself  ruined.  We  think  just  as  little  of  those  who 
expend  all  their  love  as  we  do  of  a  man  who  flings 
away  his  last  penny.  This  father  gave  his  all.  For 
twenty  years  he  had  lavished  his  love,  his  life,  on  these 
two  girls ;  his  fortune  he  gave  them  in  one  day.  The 
lemon  was  squeezed,  and  the  daughters  flung  the  rind 
into  the  gutter." 

"  The  world  is  infamous  1 "  said  the  viscountess, 
fringing  her  ribbon  and  not  looking  up,  for  Madame 
de  Langeais'  allusions  to  herself  as  she  told  the  story 
cut  her  to  the  quick. 

"Infamous? —  No,"  replied  the  duchess.  "The 
world  goes  on  its  own  way,  that  is  all.  I  only  want 


Pere  G-oriot.  99 

to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  its  dupe.  Yes,  I  think 
as  you  do,"  she  added,  taking  the  viscountess's  hand,  — 
"  if  the  world  is  a  slough,  let  us  stand  upon  high  ground 
and  keep  ourselves  out  of  the  slime." 

She  rose  and  kissed  Madame  de  Beauseant  on  the 
forehead,  saying,  "  You  are  lovely  at  this  moment, 
dear  heart ;  you  have  the  prettiest  color  I  ever 
saw,"  and  she  left  the  room  with  a  slight  bow  to  the 
student. 

"Pere  Goriot  is  sublime!"  cried  Eugene,  remember- 
ing how  he  had  seen  him  destroy  his  pieces  of  silver 
in  the  night-time. 

Madame  de  Beauseant  did  not  hear  him;  she  was 
thinking  deeply.  A  few  moments  passed  in  silence, 
and  our  poor  youth,  in  a  stupor  of  shyness,  dared 
neither  go  nor  stay,  nor  speak  to  her. 

"The  world  is  wicked — it  is  cruel,"  said  the  vis- 
countess at  last.  "  When  misfortune  overtakes  us 
there  is  never  a  friend  wanting  to  tell  it  in  our  ear ;  to 
probe  our  heart  with  a  dagger  and  ask  us  to  admire 
the  hilt.  Already  sarca'sm !  already  the  mocking 
tongues  !  Ah  !  I  will  defend  myself!"  She  lifted  her 
head,  like  the  grande  dame  (the  great  lady)  that  she 
was,  and  her  eyes  flashed.  "  Ah !"  she  exclaimed,  see- 
ing Eugene,  "  you  here  ?  " 

"•  Still  here,"  he  answered  humbly. 

"  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,"  she  said,  "  learn  to  treat 
society  as  it  deserves.     You  wish  to  succeed  in  it ;  I 
will  help  you.     You  will  find  out  how  deep  is  the  cor-  y 
ruption  among  women ;   how  wide  the  range  of  the  ' 
contemptible  vanity  of  men.     I  thought  myself  well 
read  in  the  book  of  the  world  ;  I  find  pages  hitherto 


100  Pdre  Groriot. 

unknown  to  me.  Now  I  know  all.  The  more  cold- 
blooded your  purpose  the  surer  you  will  be  of  success. 
Strike  without  pity,  and  the  world  will  fear  you.  Treat 
men  and  women  as  post-horses :  never  mind  if  you 
founder  them,  so  long  as  they  get  you  to  the  next  relay. 
In  the  first  place,  you  will  make  no  progress  unless 
you  find  some  woman  to  take  you  up  and  be  interested 
in  you.  She  must  be  young,  rich,  and  elegant.  But 
if  you  really  care  for  her,  hide  your  feelings  ;  don't  let 
her  suspect  them,  or  you  are  lost :  instead  of  being  the 
executioner,  you  will  be  the  victim.  If  you  love,  keep 
your  own  secret.  Never  reveal  it  until  you  know  well 
the  friend  to  whom  you  bare  your  heart.  Learn  to 
mistrust  the  world.  Let  me  tell  you,  Miguel  [she  did 
not  notice  her  mistake],  there  is  something  in  those 
Goriot  sisters  even  more  shocking  than  their  neglect 
of  their  father,  whom  they  wish  dead.  I  mean  their 
rivalry  to  each  other.  Restaud  is  of  ancient  family ; 
his  wife  has  been  adopted  by  his  relatives  and  pre- 
sented at  court.  But  her  sister,  her  rich  sister,  the 
beautiful  Madame  Delphine  de  Nucingen,  though  the 
wife  of  a  man  made  of  money,  is  dying  with  envy,  — 
the  victim  of  jealousy.  She  is  a  hundred  leagues  lower 
in  society  than  her  sister.  Her  sister  is  no  longer  her 
sister;  they  renounce  each  other  as  they  both  re- 
nounced their  father.  Madame  de  Nucingen  would 
lap  up  all  the  mud  between  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare  and 
the  Rue  de  Grenelle  to  gain  admittance  to  my  salon. 
She  thought  deMarsay  could  arrange  it  for  her,  and  she 
has  been  the  slave  of  de  Marsay,  and  bored  people  with 
de  Marsay.  De  Marsay  cares  very  little  for  her.  My 
cousin,  here  is  your  opportunity.  If  you  present  her 


Pert  Goriot.  101 

to  me  she  will  adore  you,  and  lavish  everything  upon 
you.  You  may  adore  her  if  you  can,  but  at  any  rate 
make  use  of  her.  I  will  let  her  come  here  to  two  or 
three  balls,  —  but  only  to  balls,  with  the  crowd;  I  will 
never  receive  her  in  the  morning.  I  will  bow  to  her, 
and  that  will  be  quite  enough.  You  have  shut  her 
sister's  doors  against  you  by  pi-onouncing  the  name 
of  Pere  Goriot.  Yes,  my  dear  cousin,  you  may  call 
twenty  times  at  Madame  de  Kestaud's,  and  twenty 
times  you  will  be  told  that  she  is  out.  Orders  have 
been  given  to  refuse  you  admission.  Well,  make  Pere 
Goriot  introduce  you  to  her  sister ;  wear  the  colors 
of  the  handsome  Madame  Delphine  de  Nucingen  ;  let 
it  be  known  that  you  are  the  man  she  distinguishes, 
and  other  women  will  go  distracted  about  you.  Her 
rivals,  her  friends,  —  her  dearest  friends,  —  will  try  to 
win  you  from  her.  Some  women  prefer  a  man  who  is 
the  property  of  another  woman,  — just  as  women  of  the 
middle  class  think  they  acquire  our  manners  when  they 
copy  our  millinery.  You  will  succeed  ;  and  in  Paris 
success  is  everything,  —  it  is  the  key  to  power.  If  wo- 
men think  you  clever,  men  will  believe  you  so  unless 
you  undeceive  them.  From  this  point  you  may  aim  at 
what  you  will,  —  you  have  your  toot  upon  the  ladder. 
You  will  fiud  out  that  society  is  a  mixture  of  dupes 
and  cheats.  Try  to  be  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 
My  cousin,  I  give  you  my  name,  like  the  clew  of  Ari- 
adne, to  lead  you  into  the  heart  of  the  labyrinth.  Do 
not  disgrace  it,"  she  added,  turning  to  him  with  the 
glance  of  a  queen  ;  "  give  it  back  to  me  unsullied.  Now 
leave  me.  Women  have  their  battles  to  fight  as  well 
as  men." 


102  Pere  Croriot. 

"  If  you  need  a  man  ready  to  fire  a  mine  for  you  —  " 
began  Eugene. 

«  What  if  I  should  ?  "  she  cried. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  smiled  in  answer  to 
her  smile,  and  went  out. 

It  was  five  o'clock ;  he  was  very  hungry  and  half 
afraid  he  should  not  get  home  in  time  for  dinner.  This 
fear  made  him  appreciate  the  advantages  of  whirl- 
ing along  in  his  glass  coach.  The  fast  motion  made 
his  mind  run  on  the  new  thoughts  that  assailed  him. 
When  a  youth  of  his  age  meets  with  a  rebuff'  he  loses 
his  temper,  he  grows  furious,  shakes  his  fist  at  socie- 
ty, and  vows  to  be  revenged ;  but  at  the  same  time 
his  confidence  in  himself  is  shaken.  Rastignac  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  words  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  — 
"  You  have  closed  the  doors  of  the  countess  against 
you." 

"  I  will 'call  there  again  and  again,"  he  cried  ;  "and 
if  Madame  de  Beauseant  is  right,  if  she  has  given 
orders  not  to  admit  me,  —  I —  Madame  de  Restaud 
shall  meet  me  at  every  house  she  visits  —  I  will  make 
myself  a  sure  shot ;  I  will  kill  her  Maxime." 

"  But  how  about  money  ? "  cried  a  voice  within 
him.  "  Where  will  you  get  it  ?  You  need  money  for 
everything." 

At  this  thought,  the  wealth  that  shone  round  Ma- 
dame de  Restaud  glittered  before  his  eyes.  He  had 
seen  her  lapped  in  luxury  that  was  doubtless  dear  to 
a  demoiselle  Goriot ;  gilded  and  costly  ornaments  lay 
strewn  about  her  salons  with  the  unmeaning  profusion 
that  betrays  the  taste  of  a  parvenue  and  her  passion 
for  squandering  money.  The  fascinations  of  mere 


Pere  Goriot.  103 

costliness  had  been  effaced  by  the  grandeur  of  the 
Hotel  Beauseant.  His  imagination  now  whirled  him 
to  the  summits  of  Parisian  life,  and  suggested  thoughts 
which  seared  his  heart,  while  they  stimulated  his  in- 
telligence and  widened  his  perceptions.  He  saw  the 
world  in  its  true  colors.  He  saw  wealth  triumphant 
over  morality,  —  triumphant  over  law  and  order.  He 
saw  in  riches  the  ultima  ratio  mundi.  "  Vautrin  is 
right,"  he  cried,  "  luck  makes  the  difference  between 
vice  and  virtue." 

Having  reached  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve, 
he  ran  rapidly  to  his  room  and  returned  bringing  ten 
francs  for  his  coachman,  and  then  entered  the  sicken- 
ing dining-room  where  the  eighteen  guests  sat  eating 
their  food  like  animals  at  a  manger.  The  sight  of  their 
collective  poverty  and  the  dinginess  of  the  place  were 
horrible  to  him.  The  transition  from  the  wealth  and 
grace  and  beauty  he  had  left  was  too  abrupt,  too  com- 
plete, not  to  excite  beyond  all  bounds  his  growing  am- 
bition. On  the  one  hand  fresh  and  lovely  images  of 
all  that  was  elegant  in  social  life,  framed  in  marvels  of 
art  and  luxury,  and  passionate"  with  poetical  emotion  ; 
on  the  other,  a  dark  picture  of  degradation, — sinister 
faces  where  passions  had  blighted  all  but  the  sinews 
and  the  mere  mechanism.  The  advice  wrung  from 
Madame  de  Beauseant  in  her  anguish,  and  her  tempting 
offers  to  his  ambition  came  back  to  his  memory,  and  the 
misery  about  him  was  their  commentary.  He  resolved 
to  open  two  parallel  trenches,  —  law  and  love;  and 
to  win  fortune  by  his  profession  and  as  a  man  of  the 
world.  Child  that  he  was  !  these  lines  are  geometric 
aliens,  asymptotes  that  never  touch. 


104  Pere  Goriot. 

"  You  are  solemn,  Monsieur  le  marquis,"  said  Vau- 
trin,  giving  him  one  of  those  keen  glances  by  which 
this  singular  man  seemed  to  catch  the  hidden  thoughts 
of  those  around  him. 

"  I  am  not  disposed  to  permit  jokes  from  people  who 
call  me  Monsieur  le  marquis,"  Eugene  replied.  "To 
be  a  marquis  in  Paris  requires  an  income  of  a  hundred 
thousand  francs,  and  those  who  live  in  the  Maisou 
Vauquer  are  not  exactly  favorites  of  fortune." 

Vautrin  looked  at  Rastignac  with  a  patronizing  air, 
which  seemed  to  say  contemptuously,  "  You  young 
brat !  I  could  gobble  you  up  at  a  mouthful ;  "  but  he 
answered,  "  You  are  in  a  bad  humor  because  you  have 
not  succeeded  with  the  beautiful  countess." 

"  She  has  shut  her  doors  against  me  for  saying  that 
her  father  dined  here  with  me  at  this  table,"  cried 
Eugene  angrily. 

All  present  looked  at  one  another.  Pere  Goriot 
looked  down  and  turned  aside  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

"  You  have  blown  your  snuff  into  my  face,"  he  said 
to  his  neighbor. 

"  Whoever  annoys  Pere  Goriot  will  answer  for  it  to 
me,"  cried  Eugene,  looking  at  the  man  who  sat  next 
to  the  old  paste-maker.  "He  is  better  than  any  of 
us.  I  don't  include  the  ladies,"  he  added,  bowing  to 
Mademoiselle  Taillefer. 

This  speech  brought  the  matter  to  a  conclusion,  for 
Eugene  had  uttered  it  in  a  way  to  silence  all  the  others 
except  Vautrin,  who  said  sarcastically,  "  If  you  are 
going  to  take  up  Pere  Goriot  and  make  yourself  re- 
sponsible for  all  lie  says  and  does,  you  will  have  to 
learn  to  use  a  sword  and  fire  a  pistol." 


Pere  Groriot.  105 

"  I  mean  to,"  said  Eugene. 
t      "  You  declare  war  then  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  replied  Rastignac  ;  "  but  I  owe  no 
man  an  account  of  my  conduct,  especially  as  I  don't 
try  to  find  out  what  other  people  are  doing  in  the 
middle  of  the  night." 

Vautrin  shot  a  side-glance  at  him. 

"  My  young  friend,"  said  he,  "  those  who  don't  want 
to  be  deceived  at  a  puppet-show  had  better  go  into  the 
booth  and  not  try  to  peep  through  holes  in  the  curtain. 
That 's  enough  for  the  present,"  he  added,  seeing  that 
Eugene  was  about  to  reply  ;  "  we  will  have  a  little  talk 
by  ourselves  whenever  you  like." 

The  rest  of  the  dinner  passed  in  silence.  Pere 
Goriot,  absorbed  by  the  pang  of  hearing  Eugene's  re- 
mark about  his  daughter,  was  not  conscious  that  a 
change  had  taken  place  concerning  him  in  the  opinion 
of  others,  and  that  a  young  man  able  to  put  his  perse- 
cutors to  silence  had  taken  up  his  defence. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  in  a 
whisper,  "  that  Pere  Goriot  is  really  the  father  of  a 
countess  ?  " 

"And  of  a  baroness,  too,"  said  Eugene. 

"  The  father  is  all  there  is  of  him,"  said  Bianchon  to 
Rastignac.  "  I  have  felt  his  head.  It  has  run  to  one 
bump,  —  philoprogenitiveness,  the  bump  of  paternity. 
He  is  all  father  —  Eternal  Father,  I  should  say." 

Eugene  was  too  preoccupied  to  laugh.  He  was  con- 
sidering how  to  profit  by  Madame  do  Beauseant's  ad- 
vice, and  in  what  way  he  could  provide  himself  with 
money.  He  was  silent  and  self-absorbed  as  he  saw 
the  rich  plains  of  high  society  stretching  afar  as  in  a 


106  PeVe  Goriot. 

vision.  The  others  rose  and  left  him  alone  when 
dinner  was  over. 

"You  have  seen  my  daughter?"  said  Goriot  in  a 
voice  which  betrayed  emotion. 

Startled  from  his  meditation,  Eugene  took  the  old 
man  by  the  hand  and  said,  as  he  looked  at  him  almost 
tenderly,  — 

"You  are  a  good  and  honorable  man.  "We  will  talk 
by  and  by  about  your  daughters,"  and  without  allow- 
ing Pere  Goriot  to  say  more  he  went  to  his  room  and 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  his  mother :  — 

MY  DEAR  MOTHER,  —  See  if  you  cannot  provide  for  your 
grown-up  son  out  of  your  own  breast  as  you  did  for  him  in 
his  infancy.  I  am  in  a  position  which  may  speedily  lead  to 
fortune.  I  want  twelve  hundred  francs,  and  1  must  have  them 
at  any  price.  Do  not  speak  of  this  to  my  father.  He  might  ob- 
ject ;  and  if  I  cannot  get  this  money  I  shall  be  in  such  despair 
as  to  be  almost  ready  to  blow  my  brains  out.  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it  when  I  see  you,  for  I  should  have  to  write  volumes 
if  I  tried  to  explain  to  you  the  situation.  I  have  not  gambled, 
dear  mother,  and  I  have  no  debts ;  but  if  you  want  to  preserve 
the  life  you  gave  me,  you  must  manage  to  find  me  this  money. 
I  have  been  to  visit  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant,  who  takes 
me  under  her  protection.  I  have  to  go  into  society,  and  I  have 
not  a  sou  to  buy  gloves  to  wear.  I  would  willingly  eat  noth- 
ing but  bread,  and  drink  nothing  but  water  ;  I  could  live  on 
almost  nothing  if  necessary,  but  I  cannot  do  without  my  tools 
to  work  with,  — tools  which  cultivate  the  vines  in  tbis  part  of 
the  world.  I  must  either  make  my  way  or  stay  in  a  mud-hole. 
I  know  what  hopes  you  have  placed  on  me ;  and  I  want  as 
soon  as  possible  to  realize  them.  Dearest  mother,  sell  some 
of  your  old  jewels ;  before  long  I  will  give  them  back  to  you. 
I  know  the  situation  of  our  family  well  enough  to  appreciate 


Pere  Goriot.  107 

such  sacrifices,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  I  would  not  ask  you 
to  make  them  in  vain,  —  if  I  did  I  should  be  a  monster.  I 
beseech  you  to  see  in  this  request  a  cry  of  imperative  necessity. 
Our  future  depends  on  this  loan,  with  which  I  can  open  my 
campaign,  —  tor  this  life  of  Paris  is  a  ceaseless  battle.  If 
to  make  up  the  sum  there  is  no  other  resource  than  to  sell  my 
aunt's  old  lace,  tell  her  I  will  hereafter  send  her  some  far  more 
beautiful,  etc. 

He  wrote  also  to  his  sisters,  begging  them  to  send 
him  all  their  little  savings  ;  and  as  it  was  necessary 
that  this  sacrifice  (which  he  knew  they  would  make 
gladly  for  his  sake)  should  not  come  to  the  ears  of  his 
parents,  he  enlisted  their  delicacy  by  touching  those 
chords  of  honor  which  ring  so  true  in  the  hearts  of 
innocent  young  girls. 

After  writing  these  letters,  he  was  assailed  by  doubts 
and  fears ;  he  panted  and  trembled.  His  ambitious 
young  heart  knew  the  pure  nobleness  of  those  tender 
souls  hidden  away  in  the  country  solitudes ;  he  knew 
what  privations  he  was  bringing  on  the  sisters,  yet 
with  what  joy  they  would  welcome  his  request.  He 
could  hear  them  whispering  in  the  distant  fields  of  the 
"dear,  dear  brother  ;"  he  saw  them  counting  over  their 
little  hoard,  inventing  girlish  devices  to  send  it  to  him 
secretly,  —  practising  a  first  deception  for  his  sake. 
His  conscience  leapt  to  the  light.  "  A  sister's  heart  is 
like  a  diamond,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  a  running  stream 
of  tenderness,  clear  and  pure." 

He  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  written.  How 
they  would  pray  for  him !  How  they  would  lift  their 
souls  to  Heaven  for  his  success  !  With  what  passion- 
ate delight  they  would  sacrifice  themselves  for  his 


108  Pere  Goriot. 

advantage  !  How  grieved  his  mother  would  be  if  she 
could  not  send  him  the  whole  sum  !  And  all  this  good- 
ness, all  these  sacrifices,  were  to  serve  him  ns  a  ladder 
to  mount  into  the  favor  of  Delphine  de  Nucingen !  A 
few  tears  —  grains  of  incense  flung  for  the  last  time 
on  the  sacred  altar  of  his  home  —  dropped  from  his 
eyes.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  state  of 
agitation  and  despair.  Pere  Goriot  seeing  him  thus, 
for  the  door  of  his  room  was  left  ajar,  came  in  and 
asked,  — 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  my  good  neighbor,"  Eugene  replied ;  "  I  am 
a  son  and  a  brother,  even  as  you  are  a  father.  You 
may  well  tremble  for  the  Countess  Anastasie.  She  is 
in  the  power  of  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  and  he  will  be 
her  ruin." 

Pere  Goriot  drew  back  to  his  own  room,  muttering 
a  few  words  whose  meaning  was  not  intelligible. 

The  next  morning  Rastignac  went  out  and  posted 
his  letters.  He  hesitated  up  to  the  last  moment ;  but 
as  he  flung  them  into  the  box  he  cried,  "  I  will  suc- 
ceed ! v  So  says  the  gambler;  so  says  the  great  com- 
mander. Superstitious  words,  that  have  ruined  more 
men  than  they  have  ever  saved  ! 


Pere  Croriot.  109 


VIII. 

A  FEW  days  later  Eugene  went  again  to  call  on 
Madame  de  Restaud,  and  was  not  received.  Three 
times  he  tried  her  door,  and  three  times  he  found  it 
closed  against  him,  though  he  chose  hours  when  he 
knew  Monsieur  Maxime  de  Trailles  was  not  there. 
Madame  de  Beauseant  was  right :  he  was  to  visit  her 
no  more. 

Our  student  now  ceased  to  study.  He  went  to 
the  Law  School  merely  to  answer  at  roll-call ;  when 
that  was.  over  he  decamped.  He  had  persuaded  him- 
self, as  students  often  do,  that  he  might  as  well  put 
off  study  until  it  was  time  to  prepare  for  the  exam- 
inations. He  resolved  to  take  his  second  and  third 
terms  together,  and  to  study  law  with  all  his  might  at 
the  last  moment.  He  could  thus  count  on  fifteen 
months  of  leisure  in  which  to  navigate  the  ocean  of 
Paris,  to  try  what  women's  influence  might  do  for  him, 
and  find  the  way  to  fish  for  fortune. 

During  this  week  he  called  twice  on  Madame  de 
Beauseant,  taking  care  not  to  go  till  he  had  seen  the 
carriage  of  Monsieur  d'Adjuda-Pinto  driven  out  of  the 
courtyard.  For  a  little  while  this  distinguished  woman, 
the  most  poetic  figure  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain, 
remained  mistress  of  her  field  of  battle.  She  broke 
off  for  a  time  the  engagement  of  Monsieur  d'Adjuda- 


110  Pere  Goriot. 

Pinto  to  Mademoiselle  de  Rochefide  ;  but  these  last 
days  of  intimacy,  made  feverish  by  fears  that  she  must 
finally  lose  her  friend,  only  served  to  precipitate  the 
catastrophe.  Both  the  marquis  and  the  Rochefides 
looked  on  the  estrangement  and  reconciliation  as  for- 
tunate circumstances.  They  hoped  that  Madame  de 
Beauseant  would  gradually  grow  reconciled  to  the 
marriage,  and  by  sacrificing  the  daily  visits  hitherto 
so  dear  to  her,  permit  the  marquis  to  fulfil  the  destiny 
that  belongs  to  every  man.  He  himself  was  playing  a 
part,  notwithstanding  his  protestations  to  the  contrary 
made  daily  to  Madame  de  Beauseant.  She,  meantime, 
though  not  deceived,  liked  his  efforts  to  deceive  her. 
"Instead  of  bravely  jumping  out  of  the  window,  she 
has  preferred  to  roll  down  stairs  step  by  step,"  said 
her  best  friend  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais.  Still,  these 
final  moments  lasted  long  enough  to  let  the  viscountess 
launch  her  young  relative,  to  whom  she  had  taken  an 
almost  superstitious  fancy,  upon  the  Paris  world.  He 
had  shown  himself  full  of  feeling  for  her  at  a  time 
when  women  find  small  pity  or  sympathy  from  others ; 
if  a  man  utters  tender  words  at  such  a  time,  he  usually 
does  it  on  speculation. 

For  the  purpose  of  knowing  his  ground  before  lay- 
ing siege  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  Eugene  tried  to 
learn  all  he  could  about  the  early  history  of  Pere 
Goriot ;  and  he  gathered  certain  accurate  information, 
which  may  briefly  be  given  here. 

Jean  Joachim  Goriot  had  been,  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, a  journeyman  vermicelli-maker;  skilful,  frugal, 
and  sufficiently  successful  to  buy  up  the  business  of  his 
master  when  the  latter  was  killed  by  chance  in  the  first 


P$re  Goriot.  Ill 

insurrection  of  1789.  His  place  of  business  was  in 
the  Rue  Jussienne,  near  the  Halle  aux  Bles  (Corn- 
market)  ;  and  he  had  the  sound  good  sense  to  accept 
the  office  of  president  of  the  section,  and  thus  secure 
for  his  business  the  protection  of  the  persons  who  had 
most  influence  in  those  dangerous  times.  This  fore- 
sight laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  which  began 
in  the  time  of  the  great  scarcity,  real  or  pretended, 
in  consequence  of  which  flour  went  up  to  enormous 
prices  in  Paris.  People  trampled  each  other  to  death 
at  the  shops  of  the  bakers,  while  others  quietly  bought 
the  Italian  pastes  without  difficulty  from  the  grocers. 
That  year  Citizen  Goriot  acquired  capital  enough  to 
carry  on  his  future  business  with  all  the  advantages  of 
a  man  who  has  plenty  of  ready  money.  During  the 
worst  days  of  the  Revolution  he  escaped  through  a 
circumstance  which  he  shared  with  other  men  of  lim- 
ited capacity,  —  his  mediocrity  saved  him.  Moreover, 
as  he  was  not  known  to  be  rich  until  the  danger  of 
being  so  was  at  an  end,  he  excited  no  envy.  The 
flour  market  seemed  to  have  absorbed  all  his  faculties. 
In  any  matter  that  had  to  do  with  wheat,  flour,  or 
refuse  grain,  —  whether  it  were  to  sample  their  various 
qualities  or  know  where  they  could  best  be  bought ;  to 
keep  them  in  good  order  or  foresee  the  markets ;  to 
prophesy  the  results  of  a  harvest,  bad  or  bountiful, 
and  buy  breadstuffs  at  the  right  moment  or  import 
them  from  Sicily  or  southern  Russia,  —  Fere  Goriot 
had  not  his  equal.  To  see  him  at  his  desk  explaining 
the  laws  that  regulate  the  importation  of  grain,  ex- 
posing their  influence  upon  trade,  and  pointing  out 
their  deficiencies,  he  might  have  been  thought  fit  for 


112  P£re  G-oriot. 

a  cabinet  minister.  Patient,  active,  energetic,  alwnys 
on  hand,  quick  to  seize  an  advantage  in  business,  he 
had  the  eye  of  an  eagle  in  his  trade.  He  foresaw 
everything,  provided  for  everything,  knew  everything, 
and  kept  his  own  counsel.  Diplomatist  in  laying  his 
plans,  he  was  a  general  in  executing  them.  But  take 
him  away  from  his  specialty,  —  from  his  little  dark 
shop,  on  the  threshold  of  which  he  spent  his  leisure 
moments  leaning  against  the  post  of  its  street  door,  — 
and  he  fell  back  into  a  mere  journeyman,  rough,  stu- 
pid, incapable  of  understanding  an  argument,  insensi- 
ble to  mental  enjoyment ;  a  man  who  would  go  to 
sleep  at  the  theatre,  and  whose  only  strong  point  was 
his  dense  stupidity. 

Men  of  this  type  are  always  much  alike  ;  in  nearly 
all  of  them  you  will  find  one  deep  feeling  hidden  in 
their  souls.  The  heart  of  the  old  paste-maker  held 
two  affections;  they  absorbed  its  juices  just  as  the 
grain-market  absorbed  his  brain.  His  wife,  the  only 
daughter  of  a  rich  farmer  at  Brie,  was  the  object  of 
his  fervent  admiration  ;  his  love  for  her  was  unbounded. 
In  her  nature,  fragile  yet  firm,  sensible  and  sweet,  he 
found  a  happy  contrast  to  his  own.  If  there  is  any 
sentiment  inborn  in  the  heart  of  man,  it  is  one  of  pride 
in  protecting  a  being  weaker  than  himself.  Add  love 
to  this  and  the  gratitude  that  simple  natures  feel  to- 
wards one  who  is  the  fount  of  all  their  happiness,  and 
you  will  comprehend  various  moral  singularities  other- 
wise inexplicable.  After  seven  years  of  married  life 
without  a  cloud,  Goriot,  unhappily  for  himself,  lost  his 
wife.  She  was  beginning  to  acquire  a  strong  influence 
over  him  beyond  the  simple  range  of  his  affections. 


Pere  Goriot.  113 

Had  she  lived,  she  might  have  cultivated  his  sluggish 
nature  and  roused  it  to  some  knowledge  of  life  and  the 
world  about  him.  Left  to  himself,  fatherhood  became 
his  absorbing  passion,  and  it  developed  under  his  lonely 
circumstances  until  it  passed  the  bounds  of  reason. 
His  affections,  balked  by  death,  were  now  concentrated 
on  his  daughters,  who  for  a  time  satisfied  to  the  full 
his  need  of  love. 

Though  many  prosperous  marriages  were  proposed 
to  him  by  mei'chants  and  fanners  who  would  gladly 
have  given  him  their  daughters,  he  persisted  in  remain- 
ing a  widower.  His  father-in-law,  the  only  man  for 
whom  he  had  ever  felt  a  liking,  declared  that  Goriot 
had  promised  his  wife  never  to  be  faithless  even  to  her 
memory.  The  frequenters  of  the  Halle  aux  Bles, 
incapable  of  understanding  so  refined  a  folly,  jested 
roughly  on  his  fidelity.  The  first  who  did  so  in  his 
hearing  received  a  sudden  blow  on  the  shoulder  from 
the  paste-maker's  strong  fist,  which  sent  him  head  fore- 
most on  the  curbstone  of  the  Rue  Obi  in.  The  blind 
devotion,  the  sensitive  and  nervous  affection  which 
Goriot  gave  to  his  daughters  was  so  well  known,  that 
one  day  at  the  Halle  a  rival  in  the  market,  wishing 
to  get  him  out  of  the  way  for  a  short  time,  told  him 
that  his  daughter  Delphine  had  been  run  over  by  a 
cabriolet.  Pale  as  a  ghost  he  left  the  Halle.  On 
reaching  home  he  found  the  story  false,  but  was  ill 
for  several  days  from  the  agitation  it  had  caused  him. 
This  time  he  did  not  punish  with  a  blow  the  man 
who  played  the  trick,  but  he  hunted  him  from  the 
markets,  and  forced  him  at  a  critical  moment  into 
bankruptcy. 


114  Pere  G-oriot. 

The  education  of  his  daughters  was,  naturally,  inju- 
dicious. As  he  had  sixty  thousand  francs  a  year,  and 
spent  about  twelve  hundred  francs  upon  himself,  he 
had  enough  to  satisfy  every  girlish  caprice.  The  best 
masters  were  employed  to  teach  them  those  accomplish 
ments  which  are  thought  to  make  a  good  education. 
They  had  a  dame  decompagnie  who,  happily  for  them, 
was  a  woman  of  sense  and  spirit.  They  rode  on  horse- 
back ;  they  drove  in  carriages ;  they  lived  in  luxury 
If  they  expressed  a  wish,  no  matter  what  the  cost, 
their  father  was  eager  to  grant  it ;  all  he  asked  in  re- 
turn was  a  caress.  He  ranked  them  with  the  angels, 
far  above  himself  in  every  way.  Poor  man,  he  loved 
even  the  pain  they  caused  him.  When  they  were  of 
age  to  be  married  he  permitted  them  to  choose  their 
husbands.  Each  was  to  have  for  dowry  half  her 
father's  fortune.  Anastasie,  the  eldest,  had  aristocratic 
tastes,  and  was  courted  by  the  Comte  de  Restaud  for 
her  beauty.  She  left  her  father's  house  to  enter  an 
exalted  social  sphere.  Delphine  loved  money.  She 
married  Nucingen,  a  banker  of  German  origin  and  a 
baron  of  the  Holy  Empire.  Goriot  remained  a  ver- 
micelli-maker. His  daughters  and  sons-in-law  were 
ashamed  that  he  continued  this  business,  although  the 
occupation  was  life  itself  to  him.  After  resisting  their 
appeals  for  five  years  he  consented  to  retire  on  the 
profits  of  these  last  years.  This  capital,  as  Madame 
Vauquer  ascertained  when  he  first  went  to  live  with 
her,  yielded  an  income  of  from  eight  to  ten  thousand 
francs.  It  was  despair  that  drove  him  to  the  Maison 
Vauquer ;  despair  at  the  discovery  that  his  daugh- 
ters were  forced  by  their  husbands  not  only  to  refuse 


Pere  G-oriot.  115 

him  a  home,  but  even  to  receive  him  openly  in  their 
houses. 

Such  was  the  substance  of  the  information  given  to 
Rastignac  by  a  Monsieur  Muret,  who  had  purchased 
the  business  from  Godot.  The  account  given  by  the 
Duchesse  de  Langeais  was  thus  confirmed,  and  here 
ends  the  introduction  to  an  obscure  but  terrible 
Parisian  tragedy. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  first  week  in  December 
Rastignac  received  letters  from  his  mother  and  his  eld- 
est sister.  Their  well-known  handwriting  made  jjis 
heart  beat  fast,  partly  with  relief  and  partly  with  appre- 
hension. Those  slender  papers  held  the  sentence  of 
life  or  death  to  his  ambition.  If  he  dreaded  failure  as 
he  thought  of  his  parents'  poverty,  he  knew  their  love 
for  him  too  well  not  to  tremble  lest  they  might  grant 
his  prayer  at  the  cost  of  their  Life's  blood.  His  mother's 
letter  was  as  follows  :  — 

MY  DEAR  CHILD,  —  I  send  you  what  you  ask  for.  Make 
good  use  of  this  money,  for  if  your  life  depended  on  it  I  could 
not  raise  so  large  a  sum  again  without  speaking  to  your 
father,  and  that  would  cause  trouble  for  our  family.  To  get 
it  we  should  be  obliged  to  mortgage  our  property.  I  cannot 
judge  of  the  value  of  plans  that  I  know  nothing  about ;  but 
what  can  they  be  if  you  are  afraid  to  tell  them  to  me  ?  An 
explanation  would  not  require  volumes ;  we  mothers  under- 
stand our  children  at  a  word,  and  that  word  would  have  saved 
me  some  sharp  pangs  of  doubt  and  anxiety.  I  cannot  bide 
from  you  the  painful  impression  made  upon  me  by  your  letter. 
My  dear  son,  what  is  it  that  has  led  you  to  make  me  so  uneasy  ? 
You  must  have  suffered  iu  writing  that  letter,  for  I  have  suffered 
so  much  in  reading  it.  What  project  have  you  for  the  future  ? 


116  P£re  G-oriot. 

Does  your  life,  your  happiness,  —  as  you  say,  —  depend  upon 
appearing  what  you  are  not ;  upon  entering  a  world  where  you 
cannot  live  without  spending  money  which  you  cannot  afford ; 
nor  without  losing  time  most  precious  for  your  studies? 

My  own  Eugene,  believe  your  mother  when  she  tells  you 
that  crooked  paths  cannot  lead  to  noble  ends.  Patience  and 
self-sacrifice  are  the  virtues  which  young  men  in  your  position 
must  cultivate.  But  I  am  not  reproaching  you  ;  I  would  not 
mar  our  offering  by  a  bitter  word.  I  speak  as  a  mother  who 
trusts  her  son,  even  though  she  cautions  him.  You  know 
your  duty,  and  I  know  the  purity  of, your  heart  and  the  loyalty 
of  your  intentions.  Therefore  I  do  not  fear  to  say,  —  If  all  is 
right,  my  dearest,  follow  out  your  plans.  I  tremble  because 
I  am  your  mother ;  but  every  step  you  make  in  life  will  have 
my  prayers  and  blessing.  You  will  need  to  be  good  and  to 
be  wise,  for  the  future  of  five  beings  near  and  dear  to  you  is 
in  your  hands.  Yes,  our  prosperity  is  bound  up  in  your  pros- 
perity, as  your  happiness  is  our  joy.  We  pray  God  to  be  with 
you  in  aD  your  undertakings. 

Your  aunt  Marcillac  has  been  unspeakably  kind  in  this 
affair;  she  even  understood  and  sympathized  with  what  you 
said  of  your  gloves.  "  But,  then,"  as  she  said  laughing,  "  I 
have  always  had  a  soft  spot  in  my  heart  fur  the  eldest  son." 
My  Eugene,  be  grateful  to  your  aunt.  I  will  not  tell  you  what 
she  has  done  for  you  until  you  have  succeeded ;  if  I  did,  the 
money  might  scorch  your  fingers.  Ah !  you  children  little 
know  what  a  pang  it  is  to  part  with  souvenirs  ;  but  what  would 
we  not  do  for  you!  She  begs  me  to  say  that  she  sends  a  kiss, 
and  wishes  her  kiss  could  give  you  strength  to  prosper.  Dear, 
good  woman !  she  would  have  written  herself  but  she  has 
gout  in  her  fingers.  Your  father  is  well.  The  grape  harvest 
of  1819  proves  better  than  we  expected.  Good-by,  my  dear 
boy.  I  say  nothing  about  the  sisters,  for  Laure  is  writing  to 
you.  I  leave  her  the  pleasure  of  telling  all  the  little  gossip  of 
the  family.  Heaven  grant  you  may  do  well !  Ah,  prosper, 


G-oriot.  117 

my  Eugene  !  Thou  hast  made  me  too  anxious  —  I  could  not 
bear  it  a  second  time.  I  know  at  last  what  it  is  to  be  poor, 
and  to  long  for  money  that  I  might  give  it  to  my  child. 

Well !  —  adieu.  Write  to  us  constantly ;  and  take  the  kiss 
thy  mother  sends  thee. 

When  Eugene  had  read  this  letter  he  was  in  tears. 
He  was  thinking  of  Pere  Goriot  destroying  his  porrin- 
ger and  selling  it  to  pay  his  daughter's  note  of  hand. 
"My  mother  has  given  her  jewels,"  he  cried,  turning 
fiercely  on  himself.  "  My  aunt  must  have  wept  as  she 
sold  her  family  relics.  What  right  have  I  to  con- 
demn Anastasie  ?  I  have  done  for  self  what  she  did 
for  her  lover !  Which  is  the  worst,  —  she  or  I  ?  "  His 
whole  being  was  wrung  with  intolerable  remorse.  He 
would  relinquish  his  ambition,  —  he  would  not  touch 
the  money.  He  was  seized  by  one  of  those  noble 
secret  returns  of  conscience  so  little  comprehended  by 
men  as  they  judge  their  fellows ;  so  often,  we  may 
believe,  taken  into  the  great  account  when  the  angels 
receive  the  sinners  condemned  by  the  justice  of  the 
world.  Rastignac  opened  his  sister's  letter,  and  its 
innocent,  tender  trustfulness  fell  like  balm  upon  his 
spirit :  — 

Your  letter  came  just  at  the  right  moment,  dear  brother. 
Agathe  and  I  had  debated  so  long  what  to  do  with  our  money, 
and  we  had  thought  of  so  many  ways  of  spending  it,  that  we 
could  not  decide  upon  anything.  You  are  like  the  servant  of  the 
King  of  Spain  when  he  threw  down  all  his  master's  watches, 
—  you  have  made  us  agree.  Really  and  truly,  we  were  always 
disputing  which  of  our  fancies  we  should  follow ;  but,  dear 
Eugene,  we  never  thought  of  this,  which  exactly  suits  us  both. 
Agathe  jumped  for  joy.  In  fact,  we  were  all  day  in  such  high 


118  Pere  Goriot. 

spirits  uon  sufficient  grounds"  (aunt's  style)  that  mamma  put 
on  her  severe  manner  and  said,  "Young  ladies,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you  ?  "  If  she  had  scolded  us  a  little  bit,  I  do  be- 
lieve it  would  have  made  us  happier  still.  Surely  women  must 
enjoy  making  sacrifices  for  those  they  love.  But  I  was  sad  in 
the  midst  of  my  joy.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  make  a  bad  wife,  I 
am  so  extravagant.  I  had  just  bought  myself  two  sashes,  and 
a  stiletto  to  punch  eyelets  in  my  corsets,  — mere  foolishness  ! 
—  and  so  I  had  less  money  than  that  fat  Agathe,  who  is 
economical  and  hoards  her  five-franc  pieces  like  a  magpie. 
She  had  two  hundred  francs ;  while  I,  O  dear  Eugene,  had 
only  a  hundred  and  fifty!  I  was  well  punished  for  my  extrava- 
gance. I  wanted  to  fling  my  sash  into  the  well.  I  know  I 
shall  never  have  any  pleasure  in  wearing  it  ;  I  shall  feel  as  if 
I  had  stolen  it  from  you.  Agathe  was  so  kind :  she  said, 
"  Let  us  send  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  all  together."  But  I 
feel  as  if  I  must  tell  you  just  how  it  was.  Do  you  want  to 
know  how  we  managed  so  as  not  to  let  any  one  suspect  what 
we  were  doing  ?  —  as  you  said  we  must  keep  the  secret.  We 
took  our  precious  money  and  went  out  for  a  walk.  When  we 
got  to  the  high-road  we  ran  as  fast  as  we  could  to  Ruffee. 
There  we  gave  all  the  money  to  Monsieur  Gritnbert  at  the 
Messageries-Royales  coach  office.  We  flew  home  like  swal- 
lows, —  so  fast  because  we  were  so  light-hearted,  Agathe 
said.  We  said  lots  of  things  to  each  other  which  I  should  not 
like  to  repeat  to  you,  Monsieur  le  Parisien.  They  were  all 
about  you.  Oh  !  dear  brother,  we  love  you  —  there  !  it  is  all 
in  those  three  words. 

As  for  keeping  the  secret,  naughty  little  girls,  as  aunt  calls 
us,  can  do  anything,  —  even  keep  silent !  Mamma  went  to 
Angouleme  mysteriously  with  aunt  the  other  day,  and  they 
would  not  tell  us  a  word  about  the  high  and  mighty  purposes 
of  the  expedition.  They  have  held  long  private  conferences  ; 
but  we  are  sent  out  of  the  room,  and  even  Monsieur  le  baron 
is  not  admitted.  Great  affairs  occupy  all  minds  in  the  king- 


Pere  Goriot.  119 

dorn  of  Rastignac.  The  muslin  dress,  embroidered  in  satin- 
stitch  by  the  infantas  for  the  queen,  her  majesty,  is  getting  on, 
though  they  can  only  work  at  it  in  the  utmost  secresy.  There 
are  now  only  two  breadths  to  finish.  It  has  been  decided  to 
build  no  wall  toward  Verteuil ;  there  is  to  be  a  hedge.  This 
will  deprive  the  natives  of  wall-fruit,  but  offers  a  fine  view  to 
foreigners.  If  the  heir-presumptive  wants  any  handkerchiefs, 
he  is  hereby  informed  that  the  dowager-countess  de  Marcillac, 
turning  over  the  treasures  in  her  trunks  (excavations  in  Her- 
culaneum  and  Pompeii),  came  upon  a  lovely  piece  of  linen  cam- 
bric, which  she  did  not  know  she  had.  The  princesses  Laure 
and  Agathe  put  their  thread,  needles,  and  fingers  —  the  latter, 
alas !  a  little  too  red  —  at  his  highness's  orders.  The  two 
young  princes,  Don  Henri  and  Don  Gabriel,  keep  at  their  old 
tricks,  gorging  themselves  with  grapes,  worrying  their  sisters, 
learning  nothing,  bird's-nesting,  making  a  racket,  and  cut- 
ting, in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  the  State,  willow  twigs  for 
switches.  The  Pope's  nuncio,  commonly  called  Monsieur  le 
cure",  threatens  to  excommunicate  them  if  the  sacred  canons 
of  grammar  are  neglected  for  popguns. 

Adieu,  dear  brother.  Never  did  a  letter  carry  deeper  wishes 
for  your  happiness,  nor  so  much  grateful  love.  How  many 
things  you  will  have  to  tell  us  when  you  come  home!  You 
will  tell  me  all,  I  know,  —  I  am  the  eldest.  Aunt  threw  out 
a  mysterious  hint  of  success  in  the  great  world :  — 

"  A  lady's  name  she  whispered,  —  but,  hush  !  for  all  the  rest," 
a  word  to  the  wise,  you  know,  —  we  understand  each  other ! 

Tell  me,  Eugene,  would  you  like  shirts  instead  of  hand- 
kerchiefs? We  can  make  them  for  you.  Answer  this  at 
once.  If  you  want  some  fine  shirts,  very  nicely  made,  we 
must  set  to  work  immediately.  And  if  there  are  any  new 
ways  of  making  them  in  Paris  which  we  do  not  know  here, 
send  us  a  pattern,  —  particularly  for  the  cuffs.  Adieu,  adieu. 
I  kiss  you  over  your  left  eyebrow,  for  that  spot  belongs  exclu- 
sively to  me.  I  leave  the  other  page  for  Agathe,  who  has 


120  Pere  Goriot. 

promised  not  to  look  at  what  I  have  written ;  Lut  to  make 
sure,  I  shall  stay  behind  her  till  she  has  finished. 
Thy  sister  who  loves  thee, 

LAURE  DE  RASTIGNAC. 

"  Oh,  yes ! ''  cried  Eugene :  "  yes  !  —  fortune  at  any 
price !  No  treasures  could  repay  them  for  their  devo- 
tion. I  will  shower  upon  them  every  happiness.  Fif- 
teen hundred  francs ! "  he  added,  after  a  pause.  "  Every 
five-franc  piece  must  do  its  work.  Laure  is  right ;  my 
shirts  are  all  too  coarse.  A  young  girl  becomes  as  cun- 
ning as  a  thief  when  she  plans  for  others.  Innocent 
herself,  far-sighted  for  me!  She  is  like  the  angels, 
who  forgive  the  human  faults  they  cannot  share." 

The  world  was  all  before  him  !  Already  a  tailor  had 
been  called,  sounded,  and  selected.  When  Eugene  first 
beheld  Monsieur  de  Trailles,  he  became  conscious  of 
the  enormous  influence  tailors  exert  over  the  lives  of 
young  men.  A  man's  tailor  must  be  either  his  mortal 
enemy  or  his  trusted  friend.  Eugene's  choice  fell  upon 
a  man  who  took  a  fatherly  position  towards  his  patrons, 
and  considered  himself  a  link  between  the  present  and 
the  future  of  young  men  who  aspired  to  get  on  in  the 
world.  Rastignac  showed  his  gratitude,  and  made  the 
man's  fortune  by  one  of  those  clever  sayings  for  which 
he  became  celebrated  in  after  years.  "  I  have  known 
him  make  two  pairs  of  trousers  which  made  two  mar- 
riages of  forty  thousand  francs  a  year,"  he  said. 


Pere  Goriot.  121 


IX. 


FIFTEEN  hundred  francs  and  all  the  clothes  he  needed ! 
Our  ardent  son  of  the  south  flung  his  hesitations  to  the 
wind,  and  went  down  to  breakfast  with  that  indefinable 
air  which  a  youth  puts  on  when  he  is  conscious  of  pos- 
sessing money.  The  moment  that  a  student  jingles 
coin  in  his  pocket  he  feels  that  he  is  leaning  on  a  pillar 
of  sti-ength.  His  step  becomes  assured ;  his  lever  has  a 
fulcrum  to  work  on  ;  he  looks  ahead  ;  he  sees  his  way ; 
his  very  movements  grow  alert.  Yesterday,  timid  and 
despondent,  he  could  hardly  resent  an  injury;  to-day 
he  is  ready  to  offer  one  to  the  chief  of  state.  A  curi- 
ous transformation  is  at  work  within  him.  He  wants 
all  things,  feels  himself  capable  of  all  things ;  his  desires 
rush  forth  at  random  ;  he  is  gay,  generous,  and  open- 
hearted, —  the  fledgling  has  found  his  wings.  As  a 
penniless  student  he  had  been  content  to  snatch  a  scrap 
of  pleasure  as  a  dog  steals  a  bone,  cracks  it,  sucks  the 
marrow  furtively,  and  runs  away.  But  the  young  man 
who  rattles  money  in  his  breeches  pocket  can  afford  to 
linger  over  his  enjoyments;  he  can  suck  their  juice  at 
leisure;  he  floats  in  summer  air;  for  him  the  harsh 
word  poverty  no  longer  has  a  meaning,  —  all  Paris  be- 
longs to  him.  In  youth  how  these  th ings  glitter !  how 
they  sparkle  and  flame!  Age  of  glad  strength,  by 
which  few  profit,  either  men  or  women ;  age  of  debts 


122  Pere  G-oriot. 

and  anxieties  which  enhance  the  joys !  He  who  has 
never  haunted  the  left  bank  of  the  Seine  between  the 
Rue  Saint-Jacques  and  the  Rue  dss  Saint-Peres  knows 
little  of  the  comedy,  or  the  tragedy,  of  human  life. 

"  Ah !  if  the  women  of  Paris  did  but  know  !  " 
thought  Eugene,  as  he  devoured  Madame  Vauquer's 
baked  pears  at  a  farthing  apiece,  "  they  would  want 
me  to  love  them." 

At  this  moment  a  messenger  from  the  Messageries- 
Royales  came  into  the  dining-room,  having  rung  at 
the  gate-bell.  He  asked  for  Monsieur  Eugene  de  Ras- 
tignac,  for  whom  he  brought  two  bags  of  silver  coin 
and  the  register  for  signature. 

Vautrin  threw  a  glance  round  Rastignac  as  keen  and 
sharp  as  the  lash  of  a  whip. 

"  You  will  be  able  to  pay  for  your  fencing  lessons," 
he  said,  "  and  your  pistols  too." 

"  The  galleons  have  come  in,"  said  Madame  Vauquer, 
glancing  at  the  bags. 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  dared  not  cast  her  eyes 
at  them,  fearing  to  show  her  covetousness. 

"  You  have  a  good  mother,"  said  Madame  Couture. 

">  Monsieur  has  a  good  mother,"  repeated  Poiret. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Mamma  has  bled  herself,"  said  Vautrin, 
"  and  now  you  may  take  your  fling  if  you  like ;  go  into 
the  world  and  fish  for  dots,  or  dance  with  countesses 
and  peach-blossoms.  But  take  my  advice,  young  man, 
—  stick  to  the  pistol-gallery." 

Vautrin  put  himself  in  the  attitude  of  taking  aim  at 
an  adversary.  Rastignac  felt  in  his  pocket  for  a  pour- 
boire  to  the  messenger,  but  found  nothing ;  Vautrin 
put  his  hand  in  his,  and  flung  the  man  a  franc. 


Pere  aoriot.  123 

"  Your  credit  is  good,"  he  observed,  looking  at  the 
student. 

Rastignac  was  forced  to  thank  him,  although  since 
the  sharp  words  they  had  exchanged  after  his  first  visit 
to  Madame  de  Beauseant  the  man  had  become  intoler- 
able to  him.  For  a  week  Eugene  and  Vautrin  had  not 
spoken,  and  each  had  silently  watched  the  other.  The 
student  in  vain  asked  himself  the  reason.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  ideas  strike  with  a  force  proportionate  to  the 
vigor  of  their  conception  ;  they  hit  the  mark  at  which 
they  are  aimed  by  some  such  mathematical  law  as  that 
which  guides  the  shell  when  it  leaves  the  mouth  of  the 
cannon.  The  effects  are  various.  There  are  tender 
natures  which  ideas  penetrate  and  blast  to  ashes  ;  there 
are  vigorous  natures,  skulls  of  iron,  from  which  the 
thoughts  and  wills  of  other  men  glance  off  like  bullets 
flattened  as  they  strike  a  wall ;  others,  again,  are  soft 
and  cottony,  and  into  them  ideas  sink  dead,  like  can- 
non-balls that  bury  themselves  in  the  earth-works  of  a 
fortification. 

Rastignac's  nature  was  a  powder-flask  ready  to  ex- 
plode at  a  touch.  He  had  too  much  youthful  vitality 
not  to  be  open  to  this  imposition  of  ideas,  —  this  mag- 
netism of  mind  upon  mind,  whose  capricious  phenomena 
affect  us  on  all  sides  without  our  being  aware  of  it. 
His  moral  perceptions  were  as  clear  as  his  eyes,  keen 
as  those  of  a  lynx.  Mentnlly  and  physically  he  had 
that  mysterious  power  to  take  and  give  impressions  at 
which  we  marvel  in  men  of  superior  calibre :  skilful 
swordsmen  quick  to  know  the  weak  places  in  every 
breastplate.  During  the  past  month  Eugene's  finer 
qualities  had  developed  in  common  with  his  defects. 


124  Pere  G-oriot. 

His  defects  were  nourished  by  his  entrance  into  the 
great  world,  and  by  some  slight  accomplishment  of  his 
ambitious  dreams.  Among  his  finer  qualities  may  be 
counted  that  southern  vivacity  of  spirit  which  compels 
a  man  to  go  straight  at  a  difficulty  and  master  it,  and 
will  not  suffer  him  to  be  baffled  by  uncertainty.  This 
quality  northern  people  regard  as  a  defect.  To  their 
minds,  if  it  was  the  cause  of  Murat's  rise,  it  was  also  the 
cause  of  his  death  :  from  which  we  may  conclude  that 
when  a  man  unites  the  trickery  of  the  north  to  the  au- 
dacity of  the  region  south  of  the  Loire,  he  has  reached 
perfection  and  may  aspire  to  be  king  of  Sweden.  Ras- 
tignac  could  not,  therefore,  long  remain  passive  under 
Vautrin's  fire  without  making  up  his  mind  whether  the 
man  was  his  friend  or  his  enemy.  From  time  to  time 
he  was  certain  that  this  strange  being  penetrated  his 
motives,  divined  his  passions,  and  read  his  heart ;  hold- 
ing guard  at  the  same  time  over  his  own  secrets  with 
the  impassiveness  of  the  sphinx  .who  sees  and  knows 
all,  and  reveals  nothing.  His  pockets  being  now  full 
of  money,  Eugene  mutinied. 

"  Do  me  the  favor  to  wait,"  he  said  to  Vautrin,  who 
had  risen  to  leave  the  room  after  drinking  the  last 
drops  of  his  coffee. 

"  Why  ? "  asked  the  latter,  putting  on  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  picking  up  his  cane.  This  cane  was 
loaded  with  iron,  and  he  was  fond  of  twirling  it  about 
his  head  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  thought  himself  a 
match  for  half-a-dozen  robbers. 

"  I  wish  to  return  your  money,"  replied  Rastignac, 
unfastening  one  of  his  bags  and  counting  out  a  hun- 
dred and  forty  francs  for  Madame  Vauquer.  "Short 


Pere  Goriot.  125 

accounts  make  long  friends,"  he  said  to  the  widow. 
"  Now  I  have  paid  up  to  the  last  day  of  December. 
Can  you  change  me  this  five-franc  piece  ?  " 

"  Long  friends  make  short  accounts,"  echoed  Poiret, 
looking  at  Vautrin. 

"  Here  are  your  twenty  sous"  said  Rastignac,  hold- 
ing out  a  franc  to  the  sphinx  in  a  wig. 

"  One  would  think  you  were  afraid  to  owe  me  any- 
thing," cried  Vautrin,  plunging  his  divining  glance  into 
the  very  soul  of  the  young  man,  and  giving  him  one  of 
those  mocking  Diogenistic  smiles  which  Eugene  had 
again  and  again  been  on  the  point  of  resenting. 

"  Well  —  yes,"  said  the  student,  lifting  his  bags  and 
preparing  to  go  upstairs. 

Vautrin  went  out  of  the  door  that  led  into  the  salon; 
the  student  passed  through  that  leading  to  the  staircase. 

"  Do  you  know,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Rastignaco- 
rama,  that  what  you  said  to  me  just  now  was  not  ex- 
actly polite  ?  "  said  Vautrin,  coming  through  the  door 
leading  from  the  salon  into  the  passage,  and  speaking 
to  the  student,  who  looked  at  him  coolly. 

Rastignac  shut  the  dining-room  door,  and  drew  Vau- 
trin to  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  in  the  little  square 
space  that  separated  the  dining-room  from  the  kitchen. 
In  this  passage  there  was  a  glass  door  opening  upon 
the  garden,  the  glass  of  which  was  protected  by  iron 
bars.  There  the  student  said,  before  Sylvie,  who  was 
coming  out  of  her  kitchen, — 

"  Monsieur  Vautrin,  I  am  not  a  marquis,  and  my 
name  is  not  Rastignacorama." 

"They  are  going  to  fight,"  said  Mademoiselle  Mi- 
chonneau  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 


126  P2re  Goriot. 

"  Fight  a  duel,"  repeated  Poiret. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  fingering  her  pile 
of  five-franc  pieces. 

"  Oh,  see !  They  have  gone  down  under  the  lin- 
dens," cried  Mademoiselle  Victorine,  getting  up  and 
looking  into  the  garden.  "  And  he  was  in  the  right  — 
that  poor  young  man  ! " 

"  Let  us  go  to  our  rooms,  my  dearest,"  said  Madame 
Couture,  "these  things  do  not  concern  us." 

As  Madame  Couture  and  Victorine  turned  to  leave 
the  room  they  met  Sylvie  in  the  doorway,  who  barred 
their  passage. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Monsieur  Vautrin 
said  to  Monsieur  Eugene, '  Let  us  have  an  explanation,' 
and  he  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  there  they  are,  tramp- 
ling down  our  artichokes." 

At  this  moment  Vautrin  re-appeared.  "  Madame 
Vauquer,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  don't  be  afraid ;  I  am 
going  to  try  my  pistols  under  the  trees  yonder." 

"  Oh  !  Monsieur,"  cried  Victorine,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  why  do  you  wish  to  kill  Monsieur  Eugene  ?  " 

Vautrin  made  a  step  backward  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Oh !  ho !  —  a  new  story,"  he  cried,  with  an  amused  air 
which  brought  a  blush  to  her  pale  cheek.  "  He  is  very 
nice,  is  n't  he?  A  charming  young  man!  You  have  given 
me  an  idea.  I  '11  make  you  both  happy,  my  little  girl." 

Madame  Couture  had  taken  her  charge  by  the  arm 
and  now  drew  her  away  hastily,  saying  in  an  under- 
tone, "  Vietorine  !  what  has  come  over  you  to-day?  " 

"I  beg  you  will  fire  no  pistols  in  my  garden,"  said 
Madame  Vauquer.  "  Don't  go  and  frighten  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  bring  the  police  upon  us." 


P£re  Qoriot.  127 

"  Oh,  keep  calm,  Mamma  Vauquer,"  replied  Vautrin. 
"  There,  there  —  it 's  all  right.  We  will  go  to  the 
pistol-gallery." 

He  went  back  to  Rastignac  and  took  him  familiarly 
by  the  arm :  "  If  I  prove  to  you  that  at  thirty-six  paces 
I  can  put  a  bullet  five  times  through  the  ace  of  spades, 
it  won't  take  away  your  courage.  You  look  to  me 
like  a  man  who  would  balk  at  nothing  when  his  blood 
was  up,  and  get  himself  killed  as  soon  as  not  —  like  a 
simpleton." 

"  You  wish  to  back  out  of  it,"  said  Eugene. 

"  Don't  provoke  me,"  replied  Vautrin.  "  Come  and 
sit  down  yonder,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the  benches 
painted  green ;  "  it  is  not  cold,  and  nobody  can  over- 
hear us  there.  You  are  a  good  fellow,  to  whom  I  wish 
no  harm.  I  like  you,  on  the  honor  of  Tromp  —  thunder ! 
—  honor  of  Vautrin  ;  and  I  '11  tell  you  why  I  like  you. 
In  the  first  place,  I  know  you  inside  and  out,  just  as 
well  as  if  I  had  made  you  ;  and  I  will  prove  it  to  you. 
Put  your  bags  down  there,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
round  table. 

Rastignac  put  his  money  on  the  table  and  sat  down, 
devoured  by  curiosity  as  to  this  sudden  change  in  a 
man  who  having  just  proposed  to  kill  him,  now  as- 
sumed to  be  his  protector. 

"  You  want  to  know  who  I  am,  what  I  have  done, 
and  what  I  am  doing,"  resumed  Vautrin.  "  You  are  too 
inquisitive,  young  man  —  stop,  stop  !  be  calm !  you  have 
more  of  that  to  hear.  I  have  had  misfortunes.  Listen 
to  me  first ;  you  can  talk  afterwards.  Here  is  my  past 
life  in  three  words  :  Who  am  I  ?  Vautrin.  —  What  do 
I  do  ?  Just  what  I  please  —  Pass  on.  Do  you  want  to 


128  PeVe  Goriot. 

know  my  character  ?  Good  to  those  who  are  good  to 
me ;  whose  heart  answers  to  mine.  From  them  I  '11 
take  anything.  They  may  kick  me  on  the  shins  if 
they  like,  I  won't  even  say,  *  Take  care ! '  But,  nom 
cTune  pipe,  I  'm  as  wicked  as  the  devil  to  those  who 
annoy  me,  or  those  I  don't  like.  It  is  as  well  to  let 
you  know  at  once  that  I  don't  mind  killing  a  man  any 
more  than  —  that !  [spitting  before  him.]  Only,  I  en- 
deavor to  kill  him  properly,  and  when  it  can't  be  helped. 
I  am  what  you  may  call  an  artist.  I  have  read  the 
memoirs  of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  —  and  read  them  in 
Italian  too,  which  may  surprise  you.  I  learned  from 
that  man  —  bold,  determined  fellow  that  he  was  !  — to 
imitate  the  ways  of  Providence,  who  kills  at  random, 
and  to  love  the  beautiful  wherever  I  see  it.  And,  after 
all,  is  n't  it  a  fine  thing  to  stand  single-handed  against 
the  world,  with  the  luck  on  our  side  ? 

"  I  have  reflected  deeply  on  the  forces  that  govern 
your  social  order  —  or  disorder.  My  lad,  duels  are 
child's  play,  —  absurdities.  When  in  the  course  of 
human  events  one  of  two  living  men  has  to  disappear, 
they  must  be  idiots  to  leave  anything  to  chance.  A 
duel !  heads  or  tails  !  —  that 's  what  it  is.  I  can  put 
five  balls  running  through  the  same  hole  in  the  ace  of 
spades,  —  and  at  thirty-six  paces,  to  boot.  When  any 
one  is  gifted  with  that  little  talent,  he  might  be  sup- 
posed to  be  certain  of  killing  his  man.  "Well,  for  all 
that,  I  've  fired  at  a  man  at  twenty  paces,  and  missed 
him  ;  and  the  scoundrel  had  never  pulled  a  trigger  in 
his  life  !  See,"  he  continued,  opening  his  shirt  and 
showing  a  breast  as  shaggy  as  a  bear's  back,  with  long 
hair  like  the  mane  of  a  wild  animal,  which  caused  a 


Pere  Goriot.  129 

sickening  sensation  of  fear  and  repulsion ;  "  that  green- 
horn scorched  me,"  he  added,  catching  Rastignac's 
'hand  and  putting  his  finger  into  the  scar. 

"  But  in  those  days  I  was  a  youngster ;  only  twenty- 
one,  — just  your  age ;  and  I  still  believed  in  something, 
—  woman's  love,  for  instance,  and  a  heap  of  nonsense 
into  which  you  are  just  plunging.  We  might  have 
fought,  and  you  might  have  killed  me,  just  now. 
Suppose  I  was  underground,  where  would  you  be? 
Obliged  to  fly  to  Switzerland  and  live  on  papa's 
money,  —  only  he  has  n't  got  any.  Now,  I  am  going 
to  put  before  you  the  position  in  which  you  stand  ; 
and  I  shall  do  it  with  the  authority  of  a  man  who  has 
looked  into  things  in  this  lower  world,  and  knows  that 
there  are  but  two  paths  open  to  us,  — blind  obedience 
or  revolt.  I  don't  obey,  —  take  that  for  granted.  Now, 
do  you  know  what  you  need,  at  the  pace  you  are 
going?  A  million  of  francs,  immediately.  If  you 
don't  get  them,  with  your  excitable  temperament 
you'll  be  wandering  with  your  feet  in  the  nets  at 
Saint-Cloud  and  your  head  in  the  air  looking  for  the 
Supreme  Being,  before  long.  I  '11  give  you  your 
million." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Eugene. 

"  Ha,  ha !  We  are  getting  friendly  to  Papa  Vau- 
trin.  When  he  offers  us  a  million,  we  are  like  a  young 
girl  to  whom  the  lover  says,  '  To-night,'  and  she  begins 
to  prink  like  a  little  cat  licking  her  fur  when  she  has 
lapped  her  milk.  All  right!  Well,  then,  between 
ourselves,  this  is  how  it  is  with  you,  young  man. 
Down  yonder  in  the  country  there 's  papa  and  mamma, 
and  our  great-aunt,  and  two  sisters  (seventeen  and 


130  Pere  Goriot. 

eighteen  years  of  age),  and  two  little  brothers  (ten 
and  fifteen).  There 's  the  whole  ship's  company.  The 
aunt  teaches  the  sisters,  the  cure  imparts  Latin  to  the 
boys.  The  family  eat  more  boiled  chestnuts  than 
wheat  bread  ;  papa  tries  not  to  wear  out  his  breeches  ; 
mamma  can  hardly  buy  herself  a  new  gown  summer  or 
winter ;  the  sisters  get  along  as  they  can.  I  know  it 
all, — I've  lived  in  the  south  of  France.  Somehow 
they  manage  to  send  you  twelve  hundred  francs  a 
year,  though  the  property  only  brings  in  three  thou- 
sand. We  keep  a  cook  and  a  man-servant  for  the 
sake  of  appearances  :  papa  is  a  baron,  you  know.  As 
for  ourself,  we  are  ambitious.  We  have  the  Beauseants 
for  allies ;  but  we  have  to  go  afoot,  which  does  not 
please  us.  We  want  a  fortune,  and  we  haven't  a  sou. 
We  eat  Mamma  Vauquer's  messes,  but  we  long  for 
the  feasts  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  We  sleep 
on  a  pallet,  but  we  dream  of  a  mansion.  I  don't  blame 
you.  You  are  ambitious.  It  is  not  every  one,  my 
brave  boy,  who  is  blessed  with  ambition.  Ask  women 
what  sort  of  men  they  like  best,  —  ambitious  men. 
Their  blood  has  more  iron  in  it,  their  hearts  are 
warmer. 

"  I  've  summed  up  your  wants  as  a  preface  to  a 
question.  Here  it  is.  We  are  as  hungry  as  a  wolf ; 
our  milk-teeth  are  very  sharp  ;  how  are  we  going  to 
fill  the  pot  ?  Shall  we  stay  our  appetite  on  law  ? 
Studying  law  is  dull  work ;  and,  besides,  it  teaches 
nothing.  However,  call  it  the  best  we  can  do,  —  for 
we  must  do  something.  So  be  it,  then.  Well,  we 
graduate ;  and  by  and  by  we  get  an  appointment  as 
judge  in  some  petty  criminal  court,  and  send  off  poor 


Pere  Goriot.  131 

devils  better  than  ourselves  with  T  F  branded  on 
their  shoulders,  that  rich  men  may  sleep  in  peace. 
Small  fun  in  that !  and  besides,  it  is  long  in  coming. 
In  the  first  place,  two  years  of  weary  waiting,  —  look- 
ing at  the  sugarplums  we  long  for,  but  cannot  have. 
It  is  hard  to  be  always  craving,  never  getting  what  we 
want.  If  you  were  a  poor,  pale  mollusk  of  a  man, 
there  would  be  nothing  to  fear ;  but,  no !  we  have  the 
blood  of  a  lion  in  our  veins,  and  the  capacity  for  com- 
mitting twenty  follies  a  day.  You  will  never  bear  the 
trial ;  you  will  sink  under  it ;  it  is  the  worst  torture 
that  we  have  yet  heard  of  in  the  hell  of  a  good  God. 
But  suppose  you  are  irreproachable,  —  that  you  drink 
milk  and  write  hymns.  After  all  your  privations,  — 
enough  to  drive  a  dog  mad,  not  to  speak  of  a  generous 
young  fellow  like  you,  —  you  will  have  to  begin  by  tak- 
ing another  man's  place  in  some  hole  of  a  town  where 
the  Government  will  pay  you  a  thousand  francs  a  year, 
just  as  they  fling  a  bone  to  the  watch-dog.  Bark  at 
the  robbers,  win  the  cause  of  the  rich,  and  send  to  the 
guillotine  men  of  heart  and  pluck  ?  —  No,  thank  you ! 
If  you  have  no  one  to  push  your  fortunes,  you  will  rot 
in  your  petty  judgeship.  When  you  are  thirty  you 
will  be  promoted  to  twelve  hundred  francs  per  an- 
num, —  unless  by  that  time  you  have  flung  your 
gown  to  the  nettles.  At  forty  you  will  marry  a  mil- 
ler's daughter,  with  six  thousand  francs  a  year  for 
her  portion. 

"  To  all  this  you  say,  Never  !  Well,  if  you  have  in- 
fluence you  may  possibly  at  thirty  get  to  be  procureur 
du  roi  [prosecuting  attorney],  with  five  thousand 
francs  a  year,  and  marry  the  mayor's  daughter.  If 


132  Pere  Q-oriot. 

you  have  the  luck  to  do  any  little  meanness  for  the 
Government,  —  such  as  reading  the  name  of  Villele 
from  the  register,  instead  of  Manuel,  —  you  may  at 
forty  become  procureur-general,  and  rise  to  be  a  dep- 
uty. But  take  notice,  my  young  friend,  that  by  this 
time  we  shall  have  torn  some  big  rents  in  our  con- 
science ;  we  shall  have  had  twenty  years  of  weary 
waiting  and  bitter  poverty,  and  by  that  time  the 
sisters  auront  coiffe  Saint -Catherine  [will  have 
turned  into  old  maids].  I  have  also  the  honor  to 
point  out  to  you  that  there  are  only  twenty  procu- 
reurs-generaux  in  France ;  and  that  twenty  thou- 
sand young  aspirants  are  standing  in  line,  among 
whom  you  will  find  fellows  who  would  sell  their 
own  families  to  advance  a  step. 

"  If  this  prospect  seems  unpleasant,  let  us  turn  to 
something  else.  Would  the  Baron  de  Rastignac  like 
to  become  an  avocat  —  a  barrister  ?  Delightful !  In 
that  case  he  will  earn  nothing  for  ten  years,  spend  a 
thousand  francs  a  month,  need  a  law-library  and  an 
office,  kiss  the  robe  of  an  attorney  to  get  briefs,  and 
lick  up  the  law  courts  with  his  tongue.  If  all  this 
would  lead  to  anything  it  might  be  very  well.  But 
find  me  six  barristers  in  Paris  who  at  fifty  years  of 
age  earn  fifty  thousand  francs  a  year.  Bah !  sooner 
than  belittle  my  soul  like  that  I'd  take  to  piracy. 
Well,  then,  how  else  can  we  make  money?  These 
prospects  are  certainly  not  brilliant.  There  's  another 
resource;  and  that's  a  wife's  fortune.  But  if  you 
marry,  you  tie  a  stone  round  your  neck  for  life  ;  and 
if  you  marry  for  money,  what  becomes  of  our  fine  sen- 
timents about  noblesse  and  honor  ?  You  might  as  well 


PeVe  Goriot.  133 

not  put  off  your  revolt  against  the  conventional  ideas 
of  humanity.  To  make  such  a  marriage  you  would 
have  to  wriggle  like  a  snake  at  some  woman's  feet,  and 
lick  her  mother's  shoes,  and  humiliate  yourself  to  things 
that  would  disgust  a  pig  —  pah !  And,  after  all,  you 
need  n't  expect  happiness.  You  would  wear  out  like 
the  stones  of  a  drain  through  continual  dropping,  if  you 
married  a  wife  in  this  way.  Better  fight  with  men 
than  try  your  strength  against  a  woman.  Here  you 
are,  young  man,  at  the  cross-roads  of  your  life.  Choose 
your  path.  You  have  chosen  ?  You  have  been  to  see 
our  cousin  de  Beauseant,  and  you  have  breathed  the 
atmosphere  of  luxury.  You  have  been  to  visit  Madame 
de  Restaud,  daughter  of  Pere  Goriot,  and  you  have 
scented  the  Parisienne.  You  came  home  from  those 
visits  with  a  word  written  on  your  forehead.  I  read 
it,  —  it  was  success!  —  success  at  any  price.  Bravo! 
I  said,  that 's  the  fellow  to  suit  me.  You  wanted 
money.  You  cast  about  to  see  how  you  might  get 
it.  You  bled  your  sisters  :  all  brothers  sponge  more 
or  less  upon  their  sisters.  And  now  that  you  have 
got  your  fifteen  hundred  francs,  squeezed  —  Heaven 
knows  how  !  —  out  of  a  land  where  chestnuts  are  more 
plentiful  than  five-franc  pieces,  you  will  find  them  dis- 
appear like  soldiers  on  a  forage. 

"  What  next  ?  Will  you  set  to  work  again  ?  The 
sort  of  work  that  you  call  work  at  present  leads  in  old 
age  to  a  bed-room  in  a  pension  like  Madame  Vauquer's, 
fit  for  chaps  like  Poiret.  At  this  very  moment  fifty 
thousand  young  men,  situated  just  as  you  are,  are  re- 
volving in  their  minds  how  to  make  a  rapid  fortune. 
You  are  a  unit  among  fifty  thousand.  Make  your 


134  P£re  Goriot. 

estimate  of  the  chances  and  the  fierceness  of  the  fight 
before  you.  The  fifty  thousand  will  have  to  eat  each 
other  up,  like  spiders  in  a  jug;  for  of  course  there 
are  not  fifty  thousand  good  positions,  —  one  apiece  all 
round  !  Do  you  know  how  to  win  a  first  place  in  the 
struggle  ?  I  will  tell  you.  By  the  highest  genius,  or 
the  lowest  corruption.  You  must  either  rend  a  way 
for  yourself  through  the  crowd  like  a  cannon-ball,  or 
you  must  creep  through  it  silently  like  a  pestilence. 
Honesty  and  uprightness  won't  help  you.  People 
bend  beneath  the  power  of  genius,  but  they  hate  it. 
Genius  is  calumniated  because  it  takes  what  it  can  get 
and  never  shares  its  takings ;  but  the  world  bows 
before  its  strength.  In  other  words,  the  world  wor- 
ships on  its  knees  those  whom  it  cannot  smother  in 
the  mud.  Corruption  is  also  strength.  Genius  is 
rare.  It  follows  that  corruption  is  the  resource  of 
the  great  commonplace  majority ;  and  you  will  find 
it  evei'ywhere.  You  will  see  women  whose  husbands' 
pay  is  six  thousand  francs  at  most,  spending  ten  thou- 
sand upon  their  toilettes.  You  will  see  employes  who 
have  a  salary  of  twelve  hundred  francs  acquiring 
landed  property.  You  will  see  women  prostituting 
themselves  to  drive  to  Longcharaps  in  the  carriage 
of  the  son  of  a  peer  of  France  which  has  a  right  to 
the  middle  highway.  You  have  seen  that  poor  fool 
of  a  Pere  Goriot  obliged  to  pay  the  note  indorsed 
by  his  daughter,  whose  husband  has  sixty  thousand 
francs  per  annum.  I  defy  you  to  walk  two  steps  in 
Paris  without  stumbling  on  some  infernal  perfidy. 
I  'd  bet  my  head  to  one  of  those  old  salad  stumps 
that  you  will  stick  your  nose  into  a  wasp's-nest  the 


Pere  Goriot.  135 

first  time  you  fall  in  love  with  any  woman,  no  mat- 
ter how  wealthy,  or  young,  or  handsome  she  may  be. 
All  women  of  fashion  walk  in  crooked  ways ;  all  are 
at  variance  with  their  husbands.  If  I  were  to  tell 
you  what  things  are  done  for  lovers  and  for  frippery, 
for  children  and  for  show,  and  above  all  for  vanity,  I 
should  never  have  done.  Not  much  that  is  virtuous 
you  may  be  sure.  An  honest  man  is  deemed  a  com- 
mon enemy.  But  where  can  we  find  an  honest  man  ? 
In  Paris,  honor  and  honesty  consist  in  refusing  to  go 
shares,  and  holding  one's  tongue.  I  am  not  speaking 
now  of  those  poor  Helots  who  stick  to  honesty  and 
virtue  without  expecting  any  recompense  for  their 
labors  in  this  world,  —  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Old 
Shoes  of  the  Good  Lord,  I  call  them.  Of  course  they 
are  the  flower  of  virtuous  foolishness,  but  they  are 
always  poor.  I  c:m  imagine  the  blank  faces  of  that 
saintly  crowd  if  Heaven  were  to  play  us  such  a  joke 
as  to  omit  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

"  Now,  it  follows  that  if  you  wish  to  get  on  quickly 
you  must  either  be  rich  or  make  believe  to  be  so.  To 
grow  rich  you  must  play  a  strong  game,  —  not  a  trum- 
pery cautious  one  ;  no  !  no  !  If  in  the  hundred  profes- 
sions a  man  can  choose  from  he  makes  a  rapid  fortune, 
the  world  says  he  must  have  done  it  dishonestly. 
Draw  your  own  conclusions.  Such  is  life.  It  is  no 
better  than  a  kitchen  full  of  bad  smells.  If  you  have 
fish  to  fry,  you  must  soil  your  hands  in  frying  them  ; 
only  be  sure  to  wash  them  when  you  have  done  your 
cookery.  That  is  the  moral  of  the  times  we  live  in. 
I  own  that  in  speaking  to  you  thus  I  know  myself  to 
have  wrongs  to  avenge  upon  society.  Do  you  think  I 


136  P£re  Goriot. 

blame  it  for  its  enmity  to  me  ?  Not  at  all ;  it  is  nat- 
ural. Moralists  will  make  no  radical  changes,  depend 
upon  it,  in  the  morality  of  the  great  world.  Human 
nature  is  imperfect.  Every  man  is  a  hypocrite,  and  ac- 
cording as  he  is  more  or  less  of  one  fools  will  cry  out 
that  he  is  better  or  worse.  I  don't  say  that  the  rich 
are  any  worse  than  the  poor.  Man  is  the  same  at  the 
top  or  at  the  bottom  or  in  the  middle  of  society.  You  '11 
find  ten  bold  fellows  in  every  million  of  such  cattle  who 
dare  to  set  things  at  defiance  —  including  your  laws. 
I  am  one  of  them.  If  you  feel  yourself  to  be  a  man 
superior  to  other  men,  you  may  walk  a  straight  line 
possibly  and  hold  your  head  high.  But  you  will  have 
to  struggle  with  envy,  calumny,  and  mediocrity,  in 
short,  against  the  world.  Napoleon  came  near  being 
sent  off  to  the  colonies  by  a  minister  of  war  named 
Aubry.  Put  yourself  to  the  proof,  —  see  if  you  can 
get  up  every  morning  with  more  energy  than  you  felt 
the  day  before.  There  's  a  test. 

"  Now,  in  view  of  all  these  circumstances,  I  am 
going  to  make  you  a  proposition  that  I  think  no  man 
in  your  position  should  refuse.  Listen !  I  myself 
cherish  an  ideal.  My  ideal  existence  is  that  of  a  patri- 
arch dwelling  upon  a  vast  estate  —  say  a  hundred 
thousand  acres  —  in  one  of  the  Southern  States  of 
North  America.  I  should  like  to  be  a  planter,  to  own 
slaves,  and  amass  a  few  millions  by  selling  my  cattle, 
my  tobacco,  and  timber.  There,  living  like  a  king, 
with  every  creature  round  me  subject  to  my  will,  I 
should  lead  a  sort  of  life  not  conceived  of  in  this 
country,  where  people  crowd  themselves  in  streets  of 
stucco.  I  am  a  poet,  —  only  my  poems  are  not  made 


Pere  Groriot.  137 

in  verse  ;  they  have  their  rise  in  sentiment,  and  I 
turn  them  into  action.  I  possess  at  this  moment  about 
fifty  thousand  francs,  which  would  barely  buy  me 
forty  negroes.  I  want  two  hundred  thousand  francs, 
because  I  need  two  hundred  negroes  to  carry  out 
my  dreams  of  patriarchal  existence.  You  see,  negroes 
are  ready-made  children  ;  you  may  do  whatever  you 
please  with  them,  without  any  inquisitive  procureur 
du  roi  pouncing  down  upon  you  with  questions. 
With  this  black  capital,  in  ten  years  I  should  make 
three  or  four  millions.  If  I  succeed,  no  man  will 
ask  'Who  are  you?'  I  shall  be  Monsieur  Quatre- 
Millions,  citizen  of  the  United  States.  I  shall  be 
fifty  by  that  time,  —  still  in  my  prime,  and  eager  to 
amuse  myself.  In  two  words,  —  if  I  get  you  a  dot 
of  a  million,  will  you  give  me  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  ?  Twenty  per  cent  commission,  —  fiein  ?  —  is 
that  too  dear  ?  You  will  win  the  affection  of  your 
little  wife.  When  you  have  been  married  a  few- 
weeks  you  can  let  her  see  that  you  have  something 
on  your  mind ;  you  can  seem  disquieted,  uneasy. 
Then,  some  night,  between  two  kisses,  you  can  own 
that  you  are  in  debt,  —  two  hundred  thousand  francs 
—  in  debt,  darling !  This  farce  is  acted  every  day,  by 
young  men  of  good  family.  No  young  wife  will  refuse 
her  money  to  the  man  she  loves.  Do  you  think  you 
will  be  the  poorer  ?  Not  at  all.  You  can  easily  get 
back  your  two  hundred  thousand  francs  in  a  good 
speculation.  With  your  money  and  your  enterprise, 
you  will  make  as  large  a  fortune  as  heart  could  wish. 
Ergo,  in  six  months  I  shall  have  made  your  happiness 
and  that  of  a  sweet  little  wife.  And  happiest  of  all 


138  Pere  Goriot. 

will  be  Papa  Vautrin ;  to  say  nothing  of  your  own 
family,  who  are  now  blowing  their  fingers  to  keep 
warm,  for  lack  of  fire-wood.  You  need  not  be  aston- 
ished at  what  I  offer,  nor  at  what  I  ask.  Out  of  sixty 
good  matches  made  in  Paris,  forty-seven  o\ve  their 
origin  to  a  similar  understanding.  The  Chambre  des 
Notaires  obliged  Monsieur  —  " 

"  But  what  is  there  to  be  done  on  my  part  ?  "  asked 
Eugene,  eagerly  interrupting  Yautrin. 

"  Almost  nothing,"  replied  the  other,  letting  a  sound 
escape  him  like  the  click  of  satisfaction  given  by  an 
angler  when  he  feels  the  fish  at  the  end  of  his  line. 
"  Listen.  The  heart  of  a  young  girl  used  to  neglect 
and  poverty  is  a  sponge  ready  to  absorb  any  affection 
offered  to  her,  —  a  dry  sponge,  which  begins  to  swell 
as  soon  as  a  drop  of  love  falls  upon  it.  To  make  love 
to  a  young  girl  under  such  circumstances,  —  a  poor, 
lonely,  and  dispirited  girl,  a  girl  who  knows  nothing  of 
the  prospect  of  great  wealth  that  is  in  store  for  her,  — 
damn  it!  it  is  like  holding  quinte  and  quatorze  at 
piquet ;  it  is  like  putting  into  a  lottery  when  you  know 
the  numbers ;  it  is  like  buying  into  the  funds  when 
you  've  found  out  the  secrets  of  diplomacy.  You  are 
building  on  a  sure  foundation.  If  the  young  girl 
inherits  millions,  she  will  pour  them  at  your  feet  as  if 
they  were  pebble-stones.  She  will  say,  '  Ah !  take 
them,  dearest ! '  Take  them,  Alfred,  Adolphe,  Eugene ! 
—  especially  if  Adolphe,  Alfred,  or  Eugene  have  had 
the  sense  to  make  sacrifices  for  her.  By  sacrifices  I 
mean  such  as  selling  an  old  coat  that  he  and  she  may 
go  together  to  the  Cadran-Bleu  and  eat  mushroom 
toast,  or  to  the  Ambigu-Comique,  —  or  else  pawning 


PZre  Goriot.  139 

your  watch  to  buy  her  a  new  shawl.  I  say  nothing 
about  love-scribbling,  and  all  the  stuff  and  nonsense 
women  make  so  much  of,  —  such  as  sprinkling  water 
on  your  letter  to  make  it  look  like  tears,  when  you  are 
parted  from  her.  I  fancy  you  know  all  that  ar.got  of 
the  heart  well  enough  already.  Paris  is  like  a  forest 
peopled  by  twenty  different  tribes  of  red  Indians,  — 
Iroquois,  Hurons,  and  the  like,  —  who  all  live  by  hunt- 
ing the  prosperous  classes.  You  are  bent  on  bagging 
millions.  Your  trapping  will  require  snares,  decoys, 
and  bird-lime.  There  are  many  ways  of  going  after 
that  kind  of  game.  Some  hunt  for  dots  /  others  grow 
rich  by  bankruptcy  ;  others  angle  for  consciences,  and 
sell  their  victims  bound  hand  and  foot.  He  who  comes 
home  with  a  good  bag  is  congratulated,  feted,  and  re- 
ceived in  good  society.  Let  us  do  justice  to  the  hos- 
pitality of  Paris ;  it  is  the  easiest  city  to  get  on  in  in 
the  world.  Though  the  proud  aristocracy  of  every 
other  capital  in  Europe  may  decline  to  countenance  a 
rascally  millionnaire,  Paris  will  open  her  arms  to  him, 
rush  to  his  parties,  eat  his  dinners,  and  hob-nob  with 
him  and  his  infamy." 

"  But  where  can  I  find  such  a  girl  ?  "  said  Eugene. 

"  She  is  here  ;  close  at  hand." 

"  Mademoiselle  Victorine  ?  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  But  how  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  She  loves  you  already,  —  your  little  Baronne  de 
Rastignac." 

"  She  has  not  a  sou ! "  cried  Eugene  in  amazement. 

"  Ah  !  now  we  are  coming  to  the  point.  Two  words 
more,"  said  Vautrin,  "  and  then  you  will  understand 


140  Pere  Goriot. 

me.  Papa  Taillefer  is  an  old  rascal,  who  is  said  to 
have  murdered  his  best  friend  during  the  Revolution. 
He  is  one  of  those  fellows  I  spoke  of,  who  are  not  tied 
down  by  scruples  or  conventionalities.  He  is  a  banker, 
—  head  of  the  house  of  Frederic  Taillefer  &  Co.  He 
has  one  son,  to  whom  he  intends  to  leave  his  whole 
fortune  and  disinherit  Victorine.  I  object  to  such  in- 
justice. I  am  like  Don  Quixote,  —  I  delight  in  taking 
the  part  of  the  weak  against  the  strong.  If  it  pleased 
a  wise  Providence  to  kill  his  son,  old  Taillefer  would 
take  back  his  daughter.  He  would  want  some  kind 
of  an  heir,  for  that  is  a  folly  common  to  human  na- 
ture ;  and  he  won't  have  any  more  children,  I  know. 
Victorine  is  pretty  and  amiable ;  she  will  soon  work 
her  way  into  his  favor,  and  spin  him  round  like  a 
whipping  top  ;  her  whip  will  be  the  liking  he  will  take 
for  her.  She  will  be  too  grateful  to  you  for  loving  her 
when  she  was  poor  to  throw  you  over  when  she  is  rich, 
and  you  will  marry  her.  Well,  I  take  upon  myself 
the  duty  of  a  wise  Providence,  —  I  will  play  the  part 
of  Destiny.  I  have  a  friend  for  whom  I  have  done 
much,  very  much,  —  a  colonel  in  the  army  of  the 
Loire,  who  has  lately  come  to  Paris  to  enter  the 
Garde  Royale.  He  has  taken  my  advice  and  become 
an  ultra-royalist :  he  is  not  one  of  those  fools  who 
stick  to  their  opinions.  I  may  as  well  give  you  an- 
other bit  of  advice,  my  friend.  Don't  keep  your  opin- 
ions any  more  than  your  promises.  When  people 
need  them,  sell  them.  When  a  man  boasts  that  he 
holds  fast  to  one  opinion,  he  pledges  himself  to  walk  a 
straight  line,  and  is  one  of  those  ninnies  who  believe 
in  infallibility.  There  are  no  such  things  as  principles, 


Pere  Goriot.  141 

—  there  are  events.  Neither  are  there  laws,  —  only 
circumstances.  A  wise  man  grasps  circumstances  and 
events,  and  guides  them.  If  there  were  essential  prin- 
ciples or  fundamental  laws,  the  populations  could  not 
change  them,  as  they  now  change  them,  like  a  shirt. 
A  man  is  not  bound  to  be  wiser  than  his  generation. 
The  man  of  all  others  whose  political  career  has  been 
of  least  service  to  France  is  now  an  ancient  fetich, 
adored  because  he  was  a  red  republican.  He  is  good 
for  nothing,  now*  but  to  be  shelved  in  a  Museum  and 
ticketed  La  Fayette ;  while  Talleyrand,  at  whom 
everybody  casts  a  stone,  and  who  despises  mankind  so 
utterly  that  he  will  spit  back  into  the  world's  face  any 
promises  it  may  require  of  him,  hindered  the  dismem- 
berment of  France  at  the  Congress  of  Vienna.  He 
ought  to  be  honored  with  crowns;  but  the  world  flings 
mud  at  him.  Oh,  I  know  how  things  work  !  I  have 
many  a  man's  secret  in  my  keeping.  Enough  of  this. 
I  shall  begin  to  hold  fixed  opinions  on  the  day  when 
I  find  any  three  men  agreeing  on  the  practical  applica- 
tion of  a  principle.  I  expect  to  wait  a  good  while. 
You  can't  find  three  judges  in  accord  on  a  question 
of  law.  To  come  back  to  my  man.  He  would  sell 
his  soul  —  it  belongs  to  me — if  I  asked  him.  If 
Papa  Vautrin  speaks  the  word,  he  will  pick  a  quarrel 
with  that  young  blackguard  who  never  sends  a  five- 
franc  piece  to  his  poor  sister,  and  then  — 

Here  Vautrin  rose,  put  himself  on  guard,  and  made 
a  pass  as  if  with  a  sword  — "  To  the  shades ! "  he 
added. 

"  Monstrous !  "  cried  Eugene ;  "  you  must  be  joking, 
Monsieur  Vautrin." 


142  Pere  G  or  tot. 

"  There,  there,  keep  calm  ! "  replied  the  other,  "  don't 
be  a  baby.  Still,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good,  get  angry, 
furious ;  tell  me  I  am  a  wretch,  a  villain,  a  scoundrel, 
a  robber,  —  anything  you  like,  except  cheat  or  spy. 
Go  on  ;  speak ;  fire  your  broadside,  —  I  '11  forgive  you. 
It  is  natural  at  your  age  ;  I  did  the  same  in  my  time, 
even  I.  But  remember  this,  —  you  will  do  worse  than 
that  some  day.  You  will  win  some  pretty  woman 
and  accept  her  money.  You  have  thought  of  it  al- 
ready," said  Vautrin ;  "  how  else  do  you  expect  to 
succeed  if  you  don't  turn  her  to  advantage?  Virtue, 
my  dear  student,  is  not  a  thing  you  can  have  by  halves. 
It  is  —  or  it  is  not.  We  are  told  to  repent  of  our  sins. 
Another  pretty  system,  that  lets  a  man  get  rid  of  his 
crimes  by  a  mere  act  of  contrition  !  To  plan  a  woman's 
infamy  that  you  may  mount  the  social  ladder;  to  put  a 
strain  of  illegitimacy  among  the  children  ;  to  be  guilty 
of  cruelties  and  wrongs  for  your  own  pleasure  and  ad- 
vantage, —  are  those  what  you  call  works  of  faith,  hope, 
and  charity  ?  Why  should  a  man  of  fashion  be  lightly 
dealt  with  for  defrauding  the  rightful  heir  of  half  his 
fortune,  while  the  poor  devil  who  steals  a  thousand- 
franc  note  goes  to  the  galleys?  But  such  is  law. 
Every  enactment  may  be  stretched  to  an  absurdity. 
Between  what  I  propose  to  you  and  what  you  will  do 
some  day  there  is  no  difference.  You  believe  that  there 
are  certain  principles  as  fixed  as  Fate  in  this  world. 
Study  men,  and  see  how  many  loop-holes  there  are 
through  which  they  set  laws  and  principles  at  defiance. 
The  secret  of  a  great  fortune  made  without  apparent 
cause  is  soon  forgotten,  if  the  crime  is  committed  in  a 
respectable  way." 


Pere  Goriot.  143 

"  Silence,  Monsieur  !  I  will  hear  no  more.  You  will 
make  me  doubt  myself,  —  and  my  only  guide  is  the  in- 
stinct of  my  own  heart." 

"  As  you  please^  bel  enfant !  I  thought  you  stronger 
than  I  find  you,"  said  Vautrin.  "I  will  say  no  more  — 
yes,  a  last  word."  He  looked  steadily  at  the  student, 
"  You  have  my  secret,"  he  said. 

"A  young  man  who  declines  your  offer  will  know 
how  to  forget  it." 

"  That  is  well  said ;  I  am  glad  you  have  said  it. 
Some  one,  you  know,  may  be  less  scrupulous.  Think 
over  what  I  have  wished  to  do  for  you.  I  will  give  you 
two  weeks.  Take  my  offer  or  leave  it  —  as  you  will." 

"  Man  of  iron ! "  thought  Rastignac,  as  he  watched 
Vautrin  walk  leisurely  away  with  his  cane  under  his 
arm.  "  He  told  me  bluntly  what  Madame  de  Beauseant 
said  in  more  ambiguous  words.  He  has  torn  my  heart 
with  his  steel  claws.  Why  am  I  going  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen's?  He  guessed  my  motives,  —  guessed  them 
as  soon  as  I  conceived  them.  This  brigand  has  told 
me  in  two  words  more  about  virtue  than  books  or  men 
have  ever  taught  me.  If  there  is  no  compromise  with 
virtue,  then  I  have  robbed  my  sisters,"  he  cried,  push- 
ing the  money-bags  away  from  him  and  sitting  down 
at  the  table.  His  thoughts  bewildered  him.  "  To  be 
faithful  to  virtue,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  is  it  to  suffer 
martyrdom  ?  Bah  !  every  one  believes  in  virtue,  but 
who  is  virtuous  ?  Nations  take  liberty  for  their  idol, 
but  is  there  upon  earth  one  nation  free?  My  youth 
is  still  unsullied  as  the  blue  of  heaven.  If  I  resolve  to 
be  rich  and  great,  must  I  bring  myself  to  stooping,  ly- 
ing, grovelling,  threatening,  flattering,  deceiving  ?  Shall 


144  Pere  Goriot. 

I  make  myself  the  lacquey  of  those  who  lie  and  crawl 
and  deceive  ?  Before  I  become  their  accomplice  shall 
I  be  forced  to  do  them  service  ?  No !  I  will  not !  I 
will  toil  nobly  in  the  fear  of  God  ;  I  will  labor  night 
and  day.  I  will  owe  my  fortune  to  myself,  and  my- 
self only.  It  may  be  slow  in  coming,  but  each  night  I 
shall  lay  my  head  upon  my  pillow  without  a  shameful 
thought.  What  can  be  more  blessed  than  to  look  back 
upon  one's  life,  and  see  it  pure  and  stainless  as  a  lily  ? 
My  life  and  I  are  like  a  bride  and  her  lover  —  Ah ! 
Vautrin  showed  me  what  comes  to  pass  after  ten  years 
of  marriage.  God  !  My  head  swims  —  I  will  not 
reason ;  the  heart  is  my  true  guide  — " 


Pere  Goriot.  145 


X. 


EUGENE  was  awakened  from  his  reverie  by  the  voice 
of  Sylvie  announcing  the  arrival  of  his  tailor.  He  went 
in  to  meet  him,  carrying  his  bags  of  money,  a  trifling 
circumstance  which  gave  him  pleasure.  After  trying 
on  his  evening  suit,  he  put  on  the  morning  one  which 
transformed  him  completely.  "I  am  quite  up  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Trailles,"  he  said  to  himself  complacently. 
"At  last  I  look  like  a  gentleman." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  coming  into  Eugene's 
chamber,  "  you  asked  me  if  I  knew  to  whose  house 
Madame  de  Nucingen  was  going." 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  next  Monday  she  is  going  to  a  ball  at  the 
Marechale  Carigliano's.  If  you  are  there  you  will  tell 
me  how  my  daughters  enjoyed  themselves,  how  they 
were  dressed,  and  all  about  them?" 

"How  did  you  find  it  out,  my  good  Pere  Goriot?" 
said  Eugene,  making  him  sit  down  by  the  fire. 

"  Her  maid  told  me.  I  know  all  they  do  through 
Therese  and  Constance,"  he  said  gleefully.  The  old 
man  was  like  a  lover,  still  boyish  enough  to  be  de- 
lighted with  a  stratagem  which  put  him  in  communi- 
cation with  the  object  of  his  adoration  without  her 
knowing  it. 

"  And  you  will  be  there  to  see  them !  "  he  said  in  a 
tone  of  mixed  envy  and  suffering. 
10 


146  Pere  Goriot. 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  replied  Eugene.  "  I  am  going 
to  call  on  Madame  de  Beauseant,  and  I  shall  ask  her 
to  introduce  me  to  the  Marechale."  He  was  thinking 
with  inward  joy  of  showing  himself  to  the  viscountess 
in  his  new  clothes,  and  looking  as  he  intended  to  look 
for  the  rest  of  his  days.  What  moralists  call  great 
crises  in  the  human  heart  are  commonly  the  offspring 
of  deceptive  and  involuntary  movements  of  self-interest. 
Sudden  changes  of  purpose  hard  to  understand,  unac- 
countable reversals  of  a  first  desire,  spring  generally 
from  some  calculation  in  favor  of  self-indulgence. 
When  Rastignac  beheld  himself  well  dressed,  well 
gloved,  well  booted,  he  forgot  his  virtuous  resolutions. 
The  young  dare  not  look  at  themselves  in  the  glass  of 
conscience  when  it  reveals  them  as  they  should  be  and 
not  as  they  would  be ;  older  men  have  the  nerve  to 
see  themselves  reflected  undisguised.  In  this  lies  the 
difference  between  the  ages. 

For  some  days  past  Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot  had  be- 
come close  friends.  Their  intimacy  had  its  origin  in 
the  same  psychological  mystery  which  produced  the 
opposite  effect  upon  the  student  in  his  relations  with 
Vautrin.  The  bold  philosopher  who  seeks  to  show 
the  influence  of  mind  upon  our  material  being  may  ob- 
tain many  a  proof  by  observing  the  relations  between 
man  and  animals.  What  physiognomist  is  so  quick  to 
discern  character  as  a  dog  is  to  know  whether  a  stranger 
likes  or  dislikes  him  ?  Les  atonies  crochus  (elective 
affinities)  is  an  expression  which  has  passed  into  a  pro- 
verb, and  contains  one  of  those  facts  permanently  im- 
bedded in  language  as  a  protest  against  the  stupidity 
of  those  who  make  it  their  business  to  winnow  out  of 


Ptre  Goriot.  147 

our  speech  its  primitive  words.1  We  feel  ourselves 
beloved.  The  feeling  stamps  itself  on  everything,  and 
ignores  space.  A  letter  holds  beneath  its  seal  a  human 
soul.  It  is  so  faithful  an  echo  of  the  voice  that  speaks 
too  far  away  for  us  to  hear,  that  the  heart  prizes 
written  words  as  among  the  richest  treasures  in  the 
gift  of  love.  Pere  Goriot,  raised  by  his  instinctive  sen- 
timent to  the  sublimest  heights  attainable  by  canine 
nature,  had  guessed  intuitively  the  compassion,  the 
friendly  admiration,  and  the  fresh  young  sympathy 
which  moved  the  heart  of  the  student  towards  him. 
But  this  understanding  had  as  yet  led  to  no  confidence 
between  them.  Though  Eugene  had  expressed  a  wish 
to  see  Madame  de  Nucingen,  it  was  not  because  he  ex- 
pected to  be  introduced  to  her  by  her  father ;  he  merely 
hoped  that  through  him  something  might  turn  up  to 
aid  his  plans.  Pere  Goriot  had  said  nothing  to  him 
about  his  daughters,  except  in  connection  with  what 
had  passed  in  public  on  the  day  of  his  visit  to  the 
countess. 

"  My  dear  Monsieur,"  the  old  man  had  remarked  the 
next  morning,  "  how  could  you  think  that  Madame  de 
Restaud  was  displeased  with  you  for  mentioning  my 
name  ?  My  daughters  both  love  me  dearly.  I  am  a 
very  happy  father ;  only  my  sons-in-law  have  not  be- 
haved well  to  me.  I  did  not  wish  to  make  my  two 
dear  children  suffer  because  of  my  misunderstandings 
with  their  husbands ;  so  I  prefer  to  see  them  secretly. 
This  mystery  gives  me  many  enjoyments,  such  as  fathers 

1  Atomes  crochus  (hooked  atoms),  —  atoms  supposed  to  be 
hooked,  according  to  the  system  of  Democritus  and  Epicurus,  so 
that  they  catch  and  hold  each  other  when  they  meet.  —  Littre. 


148  Pere  G-oriot. 

never  feel  who  can  see  their  daughters  at  an)'  moment. 
I  cannot  always  —  you  understand.  If  I  do  not  see 
them  at  their  homes  I  go  to  the  Champs-Elysees, — 
after  finding  out  from  their  maids  whether  they  are 
going  out  that  day.  I  wait  to  see  them  pass.  How 
my  heart  beats  when  I  see  their  carriages !  When 
they  come  near  I  admire  their  toilettes,  and  they 
give  me  a  pretty  laugh  as  they  drive  by,  which  gilds 
the  world  around  me  like  a  ray  of  sunshine.  Then  I 
stay  about  till  they  return.  I  see  them  again.  The 
fresh  air  has  done  them  good  ;  they  have  a  color  in 
their  cheeks.  I  hear  people  saying,  'There  goes  a 
beautiful  woman,'  and  my  heart  leaps  for  joy.  Are 
they  not  mine?  —  my  own  flesh  and  blood?  I  love 
the  very  horses  in  their  carriages.  I  should  like  to  be 
the  lap-dog  lying  on  their  knees.  I  live  in  their  happi- 
ness. Everybody  has  his  own  way  of  loving,  —  mine 
does  no  harm  to  any  one.  Why  should  people  trouble 
themselves  about  me?  I  am  happy  after  my  own 
fashion.  No  law  forbids  my  standing  in  the  street  to 
see  my  daughters  when  they  come  out  of  their  houses 
to  go  to  a  ball.  Ah  !  what  a  disappointment  if  I  get 
there  too  late,  and  the  porter  says,  '  Madame  is  gone.' 
Once  I  waited  till  three  in  the  morning  to  see  my 
Nasie  :  I  had  not  seen  her  for  two  days.  Please  never 
speak  as  if  my  daughters  were  not  kind  to  me.  They 
want  to  give  me  all  manner  of  presents ;  but  I  will 
not  let  them.  I  always  say,  '  Keep  your  money  ;  what 
could  I  do  with  it  ?  I  don't  want  for  anything.'  In- 
deed, my  dear  Monsieur,  what  am  I  but  an  old  car- 
cass whose  soul  is  with  his  daughters  all  the  time? 
When  you  have  seen  Madame  de  Nucingen  you  must 


Pere  Goriot.  149 

tell  me  which  of  the  two  you  like  better,"  added  the 
old  man  after  a  moment's  silence,  watching  Eugene, 
who  was  making  ready  to  go  to  the  Tuileries  and 
lounge  away  the  time  until  he  could  call  on  Madame 
de  Beauseant. 

That  lounge  was  fatal  to  our  student.  He  was  so 
young,  so  handsome,  and  so  well  dressed  that  several 
women  took  notice  of  him.  When  he  felt  himself  the 
object  of  their  admiring  glances  he  forgot  the  sisters 
and  the  aunt  whom  he  had  despoiled,  and  all  his  virtu- 
ous repugnance  to  crooked  paths.  Satan,  that  fallen 
angel,  —  still  angelic  to  the  eye,  —  passed  in  the  air 
about  him  floating  on  prismatic  wing ;  that  fatal  an- 
gel who  scatters  rubies,  wraps  women  in  purple,  wings 
golden  arrows  at  the  gates  of  palaces,  and  sheds  a  false 
radiance  upon  thrones  once  in  their  origin  so  simple. 
He  gave  ear  to  this  demon  of  vain  glory,  whose  tinsel 
is  the  symbol  of  its  power.  The  words  of  Vautrin, 
cynical  as  they  were,  had  lodged  in  his  heart  and  seared 
their  way. 

After  idling  about  till  five  o'clock,  Eugene  presented 
himselt  at  Madame  de  Beauseant's,  and  received  one 
of  those  sharp  checks  against  which  young  hearts  are 
defenceless.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  always  found  the 
viscountess  full  of  the  gracious  honeyed  courtesy  which 
is  attainable  only  through  aristocratic  training,  though 
it  is  never  in  perfection  unless  it  springs  from  the 
heart. 

When  he  entered,  Madame  de  Beauseant  made  a 
chilling  gesture,  and  said  coldly,  "Monsieur  de  Ras- 
tignac,  I  cannot  possibly  see  you  to-day ;  certainly  not 
at  this  moment  —  I  am  occupied." 


150  Pere  Goriot. 

Rastignac  had  now  become  a  quick  observer.  The 
words,  gesture,  look,  the  tone  of  voice,  were  all  signs 
of  the  habits  and  character  of  her  caste.  He  perceived 
the  iron  hand  within  the  velvet  glove,  the  personality 
and  the  egoism  beneath  the  manner,  the  grain  of  the 
wood  below  the  polish.  He  heard  the  Moi,  le  Hoi 
("  I,  the  King"),  which  begins  at  the  throne,  but  echoes 
from  every  well-born  gentleman  and  gentlewoman. 
Eugene  had  trusted  too  implicitly  to  the  generous  im- 
pulses of  women.  He  had  signed  in  good  faith  the 
charming  covenant  whose  first  article  proclaims  the 
equality  of  all  noble  hearts.  Kindness  given  and 
received  aright,  and  knitting  two  hearts  into  one,  is 
a  thing  of  heaven,  as  rare  in  this  world  as  a  perfect 
love;  both  are  the  overflow  of  only  very  rare  and 
beautiful  souls. 

Rastignac  was  bent  on  going  to  the  ball  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  and  therefore  he  swallowed 
his  mortification. 

"  Madame,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "were  it  not  that 
I  had  something  to  ask  I  would  not  trouble  you.  Be 
so  gracious  as  to  let  me  see  you  later.  I  will  wait." 

"  Well,  come  and  dine,"  she  said,  rather  sorry  for 
the  harshness  with  which  she  had  treated  him ;  for  at 
heart  she  was  kind  as  well  as  stately. 

Though  somewhat  touched  by  this  sudden  relenting, 
Rastignac  said  to  himself  as  he  left  the  courtyard, 
"Crawl,  if  you  must;  bear  everything.  What  can 
other  women  be,  if  in  a  moment  the  best  among  them 
forgets  her  promises  of  friendship  and  casts  me  aside 
like  an  old  shoe?  Well,  each  man  for  himself!  It  is 
true  her  house  is  not  a  shop  where  I  have  the  right  to 


Pere   G-oriot.  151 

buy  the  things  I  want.  I  do  wrong  to  have  need  of 
her.  As  Vautrin  says,  one  should  be  a  cannon-ball, 
and  make  one's  way  accordingly." 

Thus,  by  a  sort  of  fatality,  even  the  trifling  events 
of  his  life  conspired  to  push  him  into  a  career  where, 
as  the  terrible  sphinx- of  the  Maison  Vauquer  warned 
him,  he  must  slay  to  escape  being  slain,  deceive  lest 
he  should  be  deceived,  lay  down  heart  and  conscience 
at  the  threshold,  put  on  a  mask,  use  men  for  his  pur- 
poses without  pity,  and,  like  the  Spartan  boy,  snatch 
fortune  unperceived,  if  he  wished  to  wear  the  crown. 

When  he  went  back  to  dinner  at  the  Hotel  Beause- 
ant  he  found  its  mistress  full  of  the  gracious  kindness 
she  had  hitherto  shown  him.  They  went  together  into 
the  dining-room,  where  Monsieur  de  Beauseant  was 
awaiting  his  wife,  and  where  Eugene  saw  for  the  first 
time  all  that  table  luxury  which,  as  every  one  knows, 
was  carried  under  the  Restoration  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  perfection.  Monsieur  de  Beauseant,  like  other  men 
wearied  with  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  cared  for  lit- 
tle now  but  good  eating.  His  taste  in  cookery  was 
of  the  school  of  Louis  XVIII.  and  the  Due  d'Escars. 
His  table  offered  a  double  luxury  to  his  guests,  in  the 
perfection  of  its  service  and  the  perfection  of  its  menu. 
Nothing  of  the  kind  had  ever  come  into  the  experi- 
ence of  Eugene,  who  was  dining  for  the  first  time  in 
one  of  those  great  houses  where  domestic  splendor  is 
an  hereditary  tradition.  Fashion  had  done  away  with 
the  suppers  that  formerly  wound  up  the  balls  of  the 
Empire,  and  as  yet  Eugene  had  only  been  invited  to 
balls.  The  aplomb  (social  self-possession)  for  which 
he  subsequently  became  so  distinguished,  and  which 


152  Pere  Goriot. 

began  to  show  itself  even  at  this  early  stage  of  his  ca- 
reer, prevented  him  from  betraying  his  wonder.  But 
the  sight  of  all  that  glittering  silver  and  the  thousand 
refinements  of  a  sumptuous  table,  the  pleasure  enjoyed 
for  the  first  time  of  being  served  noiselessly  and  with- 
out confusion,  made  it  natural  for  a  youth  of  lively 
imagination  to  contrast  this  elegance  with  the  life  of 
privation  he  had  declared  himself  willing  to  embrace 
only  a  few  hours  before.  His  thoughts  went  back  for 
a  moment  to  the  pension  ;  and  such  horror  of  it  filled 
his  mind  that  he  swore  under  his  breath  to  leave  it  on 
the  1st  of  January,  —  as  much  to  find  himself  a  better 
lodging  as  to  escape  Vautrin,  whose  huge  hand  he 
seemed  always  to  feel  upon  his  shoulder. 

If  we  remember  .the  thousand  shapes  that  vice  takes, 
disguisedly  or  undisguisedly,  in  Paris,  a  man  of  sense 
must  wonder  what  aberration  of  mind  has  led  the  Gov- 
ernment to  place  schools  and  colleges  within  the  city, 
and  to  collect  in  the  very  heart  of  it  a  vast  assemblage 
of  young  men.  But  when  we  come  to  discover  how 
seldom  crimes,  or  even  misdemeanors,  are  committed 
by  students,  with  what  respect  must  we  regard  these 
patient  sons  of  Tantalus,  who  nearly  always  come  off 
conquerors  in  their  combat  with  temptation.  This 
struggle  of  the  student  against  the  world  of  Paris,  if 
it  could  be  painted  by  the  hand  of  a  great  master, 
would  be  the  most  dramatic  subject  for  art  in  our 
modern  civilization. 

Madame  de  Beauseant  now  looked  inquiringly  at 
Eugene,  expecting  him  to  explain  what  he  had  to 
ask  of  her  ;  but  Eugene  would  say  nothing  before  the 
viscount. 


Pere  Groriot.  153 

"  Shall  you  take  me  to-night  to  the  opera?  "  asked 
the  viscountess  of  her  husband. 

"  You  cannot  doubt  the  pleasure  it  would  give  me 
to  be  at  your  disposal,"  he  replied,  with  an  elaborate 
gallantry,  of  which  the  student  was  the  dupe ;  "  but  I 
have  promised  to  join  some  one  at  the  Varietes." 

"  His  mistress ! "  she  said  to  herself. 

"  Is  not  d'Adjuda  coming  this  evening?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  replied  shortly. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  really  in  need  of  an  escort,  here  is 
Monsieur  de  Rastignac." 

The  viscountess  looked  at  Eugene  with  a  smile. 

"  It  may  seriously  compromise  you,"  she  said. 

" '  A  Frenchman  courts  danger,  if  it  leads  to  glory,' 
as  Monsieur  de  Chateaubriand  says,"  replied  Eugene, 
with  a  bow. 

A  few  moments  later  he  was  driving  rapidly  with 
Madame  de  Beauseant  to  the  fashionable  theatre,  and 
felt  himself  in  fairy-land  as  he  entered  a  box  facing 
the  stage,  and  perceived  how  many  opera-glasses  were 
levelled  at  himself  and  the  viscountess,  whose  toilette 
that  evening  was  particularly  charming.  Our  poor 
student  passed  from  one  enchantment  to  another. 

"  You  had  something  to  say  to  me  ?  "  said  Madame 
de  Beauseant.  "  Ah !  stay,  —  there  is  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  three  boxes  from  ours.  Her  sister  and 
Monsieur  de  Trailles  are  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house." 

As  she  said  this,  the  viscountess  was  looking  at  the 
box  where  she  expected  to  see  Mademoiselle  de 
Rochefide ;  not  finding  Monsieur  d'Adjuda  there,  her 
face  brightened  exceedingly. 


154  Pere  Goriot. 

"  She  is  pretty,"  said  Eugene,  after  having  looked 
at  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"  She  has  white  eyebrows." 

"  But  what  a  pretty  waist !  " 

"  She  has  large  hands." 

"  Fine  eyes." 

"  Her  face  is  too  long." 

"  A  long  face  is  said  to  give  distinction." 

"  That  is  lucky  for  her,  then.  See  how  she  picks  up 
her  opera-glass  and  puts  it  down  !  You  can  see  the 
Goriot  in  every  movement,"  said  the  viscountess,  much 
to  the  amazement  of  Eugene. 

The  truth  was,  Madame  de  Beauseant,  while  appar- 
ently looking  over  all  parts  of  the  house  and  paying 
no  attention  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  did  not  lose  a 
single  one  of  her  movements.  The  audience  was  re- 
markably elegant  that  night,  and  Delphine  de  Nu- 
cingen was  not  a  little  pleased  to  perceive  that  she 
engrossed  the  attention  of  Madame  de  Beauseant's 
handsome  cousin,  who  seemed  to  single  her  out  for 
observation. 

"  If  you  continue  to  look  at  her  you  will  create  a 
scandal,  Monsieur  de  Rnstignac,"  said  the  viscountess. 
"You  will  never  succeed  if  you  fling  yourself  head- 
long at  people  in  that  way." 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  said  Eugene,  "  you  have  already 
taken  me  under  your  protection.  If  you  would  now 
complete  your  work,  I  will  only  ask  you  to  do  me  one 
more  favor.  It  will  not  hurt  you,  and  it  will  be  of  the 
greatest  help  to  me.  Do  you  know,  I  have  taken  a 
fancy  to  her." 

"Already?" 


Pere  Ooriot.  155 

«  Yes." 

"  That  woman ! " 

"Would  my  devotion  be  acceptable  elsewhere?"  he 
asked,  with  a  keen  glance  at  his  cousin.  After  a  pause 
he  resumed,  — 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Carigliano  is  attached  to 
the  household  of  Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Berri.  You 
know  her,  of  course.  Do  me  the  kindness  to  introduce 
me  to  her,  and  take  me  to  her  ball  next  Monday.  I 
shall  meet  Madame  de  Nucingen  there,  and  make  my 
first  essay." 

"  Willingly,"  she  said ;  "  if  you  really  fancy  her,  you 
will  get  on  easily.  There  is  de  Marsay  in  Princess 
Galathionne's  box.  Madame  de  Nucingen  can  hardly 
contain  herself  for  spite.  There  could  not  be  a  better 
moment  for  making  your  way  with  a  woman,  especially 
a  banker's  wife.  Those  Chaussee  d'Antin  ladies  dearly 
love  revenge." 

"  What  would  you  do  under  similar  circumstances  ?  " 

"  Suffer,  and  make  no  sign." 

At  that  moment  the  Marquis  d'Adjuda  came  into 
the  box.  "I  have  dispatched  my  business  very  badly 
that  I  might  be  in  time  to  join  you,"  he  said.  "  I  tell 
you  this,  because  if  it  seems  a  sacrifice  in  your  eyes 
it  is  no  longer  one  to  me." 

The  light  that  broke  over  her  face  taught  Eugene 
the  difference  between  a  real  affection  and  the  shams 
of  coquetry.  He  admired  his  cousin.  He  grew  silent, 
and  yielded  his  place  to  Monsieur  d'Adjuda  with  a 
sigh.  "  What  a  noble  creature  such  a  woman  is  ! " 
he  thought ;  "  and  this  man  gives  her  up  for  a  wax 
doll!" 


156  Pere  Croriot. 

He  felt  as  angry  as  a  boy.  He  would  have  liked  to 
fall  down  at  Madame  de  Beauseant's  feet  and  offer  her 
an  unlimited  devotion,  and  he  looked  at  Madame  de 
Nucingen  with  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  as  a  man  looks 
at  an  adversary. 

The  viscountess  turned  her  head  and  thanked  him 
for  his  consideration  with  a  little  motion  of  the  eyelids. 
The  first  act  was  now  over. 

"  Do  you  know  Madame  de  Nucingen  well  enough 
to  introduce  to  her  Monsieur  de  Rastignac?"  she  said 
to  the  Marquis  d'Adjuda. 

"  She  will  be  charmed  to  know  Monsieur,"  said  the 
marquis. 

The  handsome  Portuguese  rose,  took  the  student  by 
the  arm,  and  in  a  moment  they  were  in  the  box  of 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"  Madame  la  baronne,"  said  the  marquis,  "  I  have 
the  honor  to  present  to  you  the  Chevalier  Eugene  de 
Rastignac,  a  cousin  of  Madame  de  Beauseant.  You 
have  made  so  great  an  impression  on  him  that  I  am 
delighted  to  complete  his  happiness  by  bringing  him 
into  the  presence  of  his  divinity." 

These  words  were  said  with  a  slight  tone  of  irony, 
which  made  the  speech  a  little  impertinent.  But  this 
tone  skilfully  applied  is  not  altogether  displeasing  to 
women.  Madame  de  Nucingen  smiled  and  offered 
Eugene  her  husband's  seat,  the  baron  having  just  left 
the  box. 

"  I  dare  not  propose  to  you  to  remain  with  me,  Mon- 
sieur," she  said ;  "  when  any  one  has  the  happiness  to 
be  placed  near  Madame  de  Beauseant  his  first  wish  is 
to  remain  there." 


Pere  GorioL  157 

"  But,  Madame,"  said  Eugene,  lowering  his  voice, 
"  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I  wish  to  please  my  cousin  I 
shall  stay  here.  Before  Monsieur  le  marquis  came  into 
her  box  we  were  talking  of  you,"  he  said  aloud,  "  and 
of  your  air  of  distinction." 

Monsieur  d'Adjuda  retired. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  remain  with  me,  Monsieur?" 
said  the  baronne ;  "  shall  we  at  last  make  acquaintance 
with  one  another?  Madame  de  Restaud  has  given  me 
a  great  wish  to  know  you." 

"  She  is  very  insincere  then.  She  has  shut  her  doors 
against  me." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Madame,  I  will  tell  you  plainly  the  reason ;  but  I 
must  ask  your  indulgence  if  I  do  so.  I  am  the  neigh- 
bor of  Monsieur,  your  father,  —  our  rooms  adjoin.  I 
did  not  know  that  Madame  de  Restaud  was  his  daugh- 
ter. I  had  the  want  of  tact  to  speak  of  him,  most  inno- 
cently but  in  a  way  that  offended  Madame  de  Restaud 
and  her  husband.  You  cannot  imagine  how  much 
Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Langeais  and  my  cousin  con- 
demn the  want  of  filial  feeling  on  the  part  of  your 
sister.  I  told  them  the  story,  and  they  laughed  at  my 
blunder.  It  was  then  that,  comparing  you  with  your 
sister,  Madame  de  Beauseant  spoke  most  warmly  of 
you,  and  told  me  how  kind  you  are  to  my  neighbor 
Monsieur  Goriot.  How  indeed  could  you  help  loving 
him  ?  He  adores  you  so  passionately  that  I  feel  jeal- 
ous already.  We  were  talking  of  you  two  hours  this 
morning.  This  evening,  as  my  mind  dwelt  on  what 
he  had  told  me,  I  said  to  my  cousin  with  whom  I 
was  dining,  that  I  did  not  believe  you  could  be  as 


158  Pere  Goriot. 

beautiful  in  person  as  you  were  amiable  in  heart. 
Willing  no  doubt  to  favor  my  admiration,  Madame  de 
Beauseant  brought  me  with  her  this  evening,  telling 
me,  in  her  gracious  way,  that  I  should  certainly  see 
you  here." 

"Ah  !  Monsieur,  do  I  owe  you  gratitude  already?" 
said  the  banker's  wife  ;  "  a  little  more  and  we  shall  be 
old  friends." 

"  Friendship  must  be  a  noble  sentiment  when  in- 
spired by  you,"  said  Rastignac  ;  "  but  I  shall  never  ask 
for  your  friendship." 

Such  stereotyped  nonsense  in  the  mouths  of  debu- 
tants seem  to  please  women,  and  are  only  absurd  when 
written  down  in  cold  blood.  The  gesture,  the  tone, 
and  the  glance  of  a  young  man  lends  to  such  speeches 
a  certain  charm.  Madame  de  Nucingen  was  delighted 
with  Eugene.  Then,  as  she  could  say  nothing  in  reply 
to  such  sentiments,  she  responded  to  another  part  of 
his  speech  :  — 

"  Yes,  my  sister  does  herself  harm  by  the  way  she 
neglects  our  poor  father,  who  has  been  a  pei-fect  Provi- 
dence to  both  of  us.  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  was 
obliged  to  give  me  peremptory  orders  not  to  receive 
my  father  among  my  other  guests  before  I  would  yield 
the  point  to  him.  It  has  made  me  very  miserable ;  I 
have  wept  over  it.  His  violence  on  this  subject,  joined 
to  other  conjugal  unkindness,  has  greatly  troubled  my 
domestic  happiness.  I  may  be  a  fortunate  woman  in 
the  eyes  of  Paris,  but  I  consider  myself  one  of  the 
most  pitiable.  You  will  think  me  mad  to  speak  to  you 
in  this  way.  But  since  you  know  my  father  I  cannot 
feel  to  you  as  a  stranger." 


Pere  Goriot.  159 

"  Indeed,  you  could  meet  no  one,"  cried  Eugene, 
"more  desirous  of  doing  you  service.  What  are  all 
women  striving  for  ?  Is  it  not  happiness  ?  And  if 
happiness  for  a  woman  is,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  to  be  loved,  adored  ;  to  possess  a  friend  in  whom 
she  may  unhesitatingly  confide  her  desires,  her  fan- 
cies, her  griefs,  her  joys,  —  before  whom  she  can  lay 
bare  her  heart  with  all  its  excellences  and  all  its 
weaknesses,  and  know  that  her  confidence  will  never 
be  betrayed,  —  then,  believe  me,  such  a  friend  can 
only  be  found  in  a  young  man  full  of  illusions,  who 
knows  nothing  of  the  world,  nor  ever  will  know, 
because  you  will  be  all  the  world  to  him.  You  will 
laugh  at  my  naivete  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  just 
come  up  from  the  country,  that  I  am  new  to  the  world, 
that  I  have  never  known  any  one  who  was  not  good 
and  true.  I  thought  I  should  live  without  love  here 
in  Paris;  but  I  have  been  thrown  with  my  cousin,  who 
has  deeply  touched  my  feelings  ;  she  has  let  me  see  into 
her  heart,  and  I  have  guessed  at  treasures  of  affection. 
Like  Cherubin,  I  am  the  lover  of  all  women  until  I 
may  devote  myself  to  one.  When  I  saw  you  to-night 
for  the  first  time,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  floated  towards 
you  by  the  force  of  a  current.  I  had  been  thinking  of 
you  so  much !  But  in  my  dreams  you  were  not  as 
beautiful  as  you  are  in  reality.  Madame  de  Beauseant 
ordered  me  not  to  fix  my  eyes  upon  you.  She  could 
not  understand  the  attraction  of  your  sweet  lips,  your 
lovely  color,  your  soft  eyes.  I,  too,  am  talking  madly, 
but  suffer  me  to  say  these  things  to  you." 

Nothing  pleases  some  women  more  than  to  hear 
such  honeyed  words.  The  strictest  among  them  will 


160  Pere  Goriot. 

listen,  even  though  she  does  not  respond.  Having 
thus  begun,  Rastignac  ran  on  with  more  of  the  same 
kind,  telling  his  beads  of  coquetry  in  a  low  and  vi- 
brant voice ;  while  Madame  de  Nucingen  encouraged 
him  by  her  smiles,  all  the  while  keeping  an  eye  upon 
de  Marsay,  who  was  still  in  the  box  of  the  Princess 
Galathionne. 

Rastignac  stayed  with  Madame  de  Nucingen  till  her 
husband  came  to  take  her  home. 

"  Madame,"  said  Eugene,  "  I  shall  have  the  honor  of 
calling  upon  you  before  the  ball  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Carigliano." 

"  If  Matame  bresents  you  there,"  said  the  baron,  a 
fat  Alsatian,  whose  round  face  showed  signs  of  danger- 
ous cunning,  "so  vill  you  be  veil  receifed." 

"  I  am  getting  on  apace,"  thought  Eugene.  "  She 
was  not  the  least  angry  when  I  said,  *  Could  you  love 
me  ? '  I  have  bridled  my  mare ;  now  let  me  ride  her." 
So  thinking,  he  went  to  Madame  de  Beause"ant's  box 
to  make  his  bow.  She  was  leaving  with  Monsieur 
d'Adjufla.  Our  inexperienced  student  little  knew 
that  Madame  de  Nucingen  had  not  listened  to  half 
that  he  said  to  her.  Her  mind  was  occupied  by  a 
letter  she  was  expecting  from  de  Marsay,  that  would 
decide  her  fate.  Charmed,  however,  with  his  im- 
aginary success,  Eugene  accompanied  the  viscountess 
to  the  vestibule,  where  all  were  waiting  for  their 
carriages. 

"  Your  cousin  does  not  seem  like  himself,"  said  the 
Portuguese,  laughing,  when  Eugene  had  quitted  them. 
"  He  has  the  air  of  a  fellow  who  means  to  break  the 
bank.  He  is  as  supple  as  an  eel,  and  I  think  he  will 


Pere  Croriot.  161 

get  on.  It  was  clever  of  you  to  pick  out  for  him  a 
woman  in  need  of  consolation." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Madame  de  Beauseant ;  "  but  all  de- 
pends, you  know,  on  whether  she  loves  the  man  who 
is  forsaking  her." 

Eugene  walked  back  from  the  theatre  to  the  Rue 
Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve  with  his  head  brimful  of 
visions.  He  had  noticed  the  attention  with  which 
Madame  de  Restaud  observed  him  when  in  the  box 
of  the  viscountess,  and  also  in  that  of  Madame  de 
Nucingen ;  and  he  argued  that  her  doors  would  not 
long  be  closed  against  him.  Already  he  had  made 
four  important  acquisitions  in  the  great  world  of 
Paris ;  for  he  took  it  for  granted  that  he  should  win 
the  good  graces  of  the  Marechale.  Without  pre- 
cisely settling  how  to  carry  out  his  plans,  he  was 
intuitively  conscious  that  in  the  game  he  had  to 
play  among  so  many  complicated  interests,  he  would 
do  well  to  attach  himself  to  some  one  chariot  that 
would  whirl  him  onward,  conscious  that  he  was 
strong  enough,  when  his  end  was  gained,  to  put  on 
the  brakes. 

"  If  Madame  de  Nucingen  is  interested  in  me,"  he 
thought,  "  I  will  teach  her  to  manage  her  husband. 
The  baron  makes  money  hand  over  hand :  he  might 
help  me  to  some  stroke  of  fortune." 

He  did  not  say  this  bluntly ;  the  notion  was  but  a 
light  cloud  floating  above  the  verge  of  his  horizon  ;  he 
was  not  as  yet  sufficiently  advanced  to  sum  up  possibili- 
ties and  make  his  calculations,  —  but  his  ideas,  though 
they  had  not  the  crude  ugliness  of  Vautrin's,  would 
scarcely,  if  tested  in  the  crucible  of  conscience,  have 
11 


162  Pere  GrorioL 

shown  much  that  was  pure.  It  is  by  a  course  of 
mental  compromises  of  this  kind  that  men  reach  the 
stage  of  relaxed  morality  which  characterizes  our 
epoch,  —  an  epoch  when  it  is  rare,  rarer  than  in  any 
other  age  of  the  world's  history,  to  find  men  of  high 
principle,  men  with  a  sturdy  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
firm  wills  that  never  bow  the  knee  to  evil,  natures  to 
whom  the  smallest  deviation  from  the  straight  path 
seems  a  sin.  Such  interpretation  of  virtue  has  given 
to  the  world  two  masterpieces,  —  one,  the  Alceste  of 
Molijre;  the  other,  Jeannie  Deans  and  her  father,  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  Perhaps  the  same  subject  seen 
from  its  other  side —  a  picture  of  the  shifts  and  wind- 
ings of  a  man  of  the  world ;  an  ambitious  man,  with 
no  fixed  conscience,  who  seeks  to  pick  his  way  along 
the  edge  of  wickedness,  and  yet  save  appearances 
while  he  gains  his  end  —  may  be  neither  less  useful, 
less  moral,  nor  less  dramatic. 

By  the  time  Rastignac  reached  his  own  door  he  had 
worked  himself  into  a  sham  passion  for  Madame  de 
Nucingen.  He  thought  her  graceful  as  a  swallow  ;  he 
admired  the  enchanting  softness  of  her  eyes,  the  deli- 
cate and  silky  texture  of  her  skin  tinged  with  the 
blood  that  flowed  beneath  it,  the  music  of  her  voice, 
and  her  abundant  fair  hair,  —  he  remembered  every 
particular ;  and  perhaps  his  walk,  which  had  quickened 
his  pulses,  added  to  the  fascination.  He  knocked 
sharply  at  Pere  Goriot's  door. 

"My  neighbor,"  he  said,  "I  have  seen  Madame 
Delphine." 

«'  Where  ?  " 

"At  the  opera." 


Pere  Goriot.  163 

"  Did  she  enjoy  herself?  Come  in,"  said  the  old 
man,  who  got  out  of  bed  in  his  shirt  and  opened  his 
door,  and  then  went  back  to  bed  again.  "  Tell  me  all 
about  her,"  he  said. 

Eugene,  who  found  himself  for  the  first  time  in 
Pere  Goriot's  chamber,  could  not  repress  a  start  of 
amazement  at  the  wretchedness  in  which  the  father 
lived,  — comparing  it  with  what  he  knew  of  the  luxury 
of  his  daughters. 

The  window  had  no  curtain;  the  paper  had  peeled 
in  strips  from  the  damp  wall,  showing  the  plaster  yel- 
iow  with  smoke  and  age.  The  old  man  lay  upon  a 
wretched  bed,  with  one  thin  blanket  and  a  wadded 
quilt  made  out  of  scraps  of  Madame  Vauquer's  old 
gowns.  The  tiles  of  the  floor  were  damp,  and  their 
crevices  were  filled  with  dust  and  dirt.  Against  the 
wall,  opposite  to  the  window,  stood  an  old  bureau  with 
a  swelled  front  and  brass  handles  representing  grape- 
shoots  intertwined  with  leaves  and  flowers,  and  a 
wooden  stand  on  which  was  a  water-jug  in  its  basin, 
and  a  number  of  shaving  utensils.  In  one  corner  of 
the  room  a  heap  of  shoes ;  at  the  bed's  head  a  dilapi- 
dated night-stand  without  a  door.  Beside  the  fire- 
place, where  there  were  no  traces  of  fire,  stood  the 
square  walnut  table  which  had  enabled  Pere  Goriot  to 
destroy  his  porringer.  A  miserable  writing-desk  with 
the  old  man's  hat  upon  it,  an  arm-chair  stuffed  with 
straw,  and  two  smaller  chairs  made  up  the  wretched 
furniture.  The  pole  of  the  bedstead,  fastened  by  a 
rag  to  a  hook  in  the  ceiling,  upheld  a  coarse  curtain  of 
red  checked  gingham.  The  poorest  errand-boy  in  a 
garret  was  surely  not  so  miserably  lodged  as  Pere 


164  Pere  Goriot. 

Goriot  at  Madame  Vauquer's.  The  aspect  of  the 
room  chilled  and  wrung  the  heart ;  it  was  desolate  as 
the  condemned  cell  of  a  prison. 

Fortunately,  Pere  Goriot  could  not  see  the  expres- 
sion on  Eugene's  face  as  he  put  his  candlestick  on  the 
table  at  the  head  of  the  bed.  The  old  man  turned 
towards  him,  and  lay  covered  up  to  the  chin. 

"  Well,  which  do  you  like  better  ? "  he  asked, 
"Madame  de  Restaud  or  Madame  de  Nucingen?" 

"  I  prefer  Madame  Delphine,"  replied  the  student, 
"because  she  loves  you  best." 

As  Eugene  said  these  words  warmly,  Pere  Goriot 
put  his  arm  out  of  bed  and  pressed  his  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you ! "  he  cried  eagerly.  "  What 
did  she  say  about  me  ?  " 

The  student  repeated  the  words  of  the  baronne, 
adding  some  affectionate  touches  of  his  own,  the  old 
man  listening  as  if  to  a  voice  from  heaven. 

"  Dear  child  ! "  he  said.  "  Yes,  yes,  she  loves  me 
dearly.  But  you  must  not  believe  what  she  told  you 
of  Anastasie.  The  sisters  are  a  little  jealous  of  each 
other.  It  is  another  proof  of  their  affection.  Madame 
de  Restaud  loves  me  dearly  too ;  I  know  it.  A  father 
is  to  his  daughters  what  the  good  God  is  to  all.  He 
sees  into  their  hearts,  he  knows  their  springs  of  action. 
Both  are  affectionate.  Oh !  if  I  had  had  good  sons-in- 
law  I  should  have  been  a  happy  man!  I  suppose  there 
is  no  perfect  happiness  on  earth.  If  I  had  been  able 
to  live  with  them,  to  hear  their  voices,  to  know  them 
near  me,  to  see  them  as  they  went  out  and  came  in, 
as  I  did  before  they  married,  my  heart  might  not  have 
borne  such  joy.  Were  they  well-dressed  ?  " 


Pere  Goriot.  1G5 

"  Yes,"  said  Eugene.  "  But,  Monsieur  Goriot,  how  is 
it  that  with  daughters  so  wealthy  as  yours,  you  live 
in  this  wretched  lodging?  " 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  old  man  carelessly,  "  what  better  do 
I  want  ?  I  cannot  explain  everything  to  you ;  I  never 
could  put  words  together.  It  is  all  here  ! "  he  added, 
striking  his  breast.  "  My  life  is  bound  up  in  my  daugh- 
ters. If  they  enjoy  themselves,  if  they  are  well-dressed, 
and  have  carpets  under  their  feet,  what  matters  it 
what  kind  of  coat  I  wear,  or  what  sort  of  a  place 
I  sleep  in  ?  I  am  not  cold  if  they  are  warm  ;  I  am 
not  dull  if  I  know  they  laugh  ;  I  have  no  sorrows  but 
theirs.  When  you  have  children  you  will  say,  as  you 
watch  the  little  creatures  prattling  round  you,  '  They 
are  part  of  myself,  of  my  flesh  and  my  blood,  the 
flower  of  my  own  being.'  Yes,  I  live  anew  in  their 
bodies ;  I  move  with  their  limbs  ;  I  hear  their  voices 
answering  to  mine.  One  look  of  theirs,  if  they  are  sad, 
chills  my  blood.  Some  day  you  will  know  that  it 
is  better  to  be  happy  in  our  children's  happiness  than 
in  our  own.  I  cannot  explain  it.  There  are  wells  of 
inward  joy  that  nourish  life.  I  live  three  lives,  —  my 
own  and  theirs.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  strange  thing  ? 
When  I  became  a  father  I  comprehended  God.  He  is 
present  in  all  things,  because  all  Nature  has  proceeded 
from  him.  Monsieur,  I  am  so  with  my  daughters ; 
only  I  sometimes  think  our  world,  such  as  it  is,  cannot 
seem  so  beautiful  to  God  as  my  girls  are  to  me.  My 
heart  has  such  strange  connection  with  all  concerning 
them  that  I  know  what  is  happening  to  them.  I  knew 
that  you  would  see  them  this  evening.  Ah,  me  !  if  any 
one  would  make  my  little  Delphine  happy,  I  would 


166  Pere  Goriot. 

black  his  boots  and  do  his  errands.  How  could  she 
have  brought  herself  to  marry  that  dull  log  of  an 
Alsatian?-  They  ought  to  have  had  noble  young  hus- 
bands, manly  and  amiable  and  good,  —  but  they  chose 
for  themselves ! " 

Pere  Goriot  was  stirred  out  of  himself.  Never  till 
now  had  Eugene  seen  him  thus  lighted  up  by  the  pas- 
sion of  paternity.  We  may  here  remark  on  the  in- 
filtrating, transforming  power  of  an  over -mastering 
emotion.  However  coarse  the  fibre  of  the  individual, 
let  him  be  held  by  a  strong  and  genuine  affection,  and 
he  exhales,  as  it  were,  an  essence  which  illuminates 
his  features,  inspires  his  gestures,  and  gives  cadence  to 
his  voice.  It  happens  sometimes  that  the  dullest  soul 
under  the  lash  of  passion  attains  to  such  eloquence  of 
thought,  if  not  of  language,  that  it  seems  to  move  in  lu- 
minous air.  As  the  old  man  spoke,  his  voice  and  man- 
ner had  the  magnetic  power  of  noble  acting.  Are  not 
our  loftiest  emotions  the  poetry  of  the  human  will  ? 

"  I  am  to  see  Madame  Delphine  to-morrow,"  said 
Eugene,  "  and  I  am  to  meet  her  at  the  ball  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Carigliano  on  Monday." 

"  Ah  !  how  I  should  love  you,  my  young  friend,  if 
you  could  shed  a  ray  of  brightness  on  her  life  !  You 
are  good  yourself,  and  kind.  But  I  forget,  —  this  room 
is  too  cold  for  you.  Mon  Dien,  you  heard  her  voice  ! 
What  message  did  she  give  you  for  me  ?  " 

"None  at  all,"  thought  Eugene;  but  he  said  aloud, 
"  She  told  me  to  tell  you  that  she  sent  you  a  daughter's 
kiss." 

"  Adieu,  my  friend.  Sleep  sound  ;  dream  pleasant 
dreams ;  mine  will  be  perfect  with  that  kiss  to  think 


Pere  Goriot.  167 

of.  You  have  been  to  me  to-night  like  a  blessed  angel. 
The  fragrance  of  my  daughter  hangs  about  you  still." 

"Poor  man!"  sighed  Eugene  as  he  went  to  bed. 
"  What  he  says  would  touch  a  heart  of  stone.  His 
daughter  no  more  thought  of  him  than  she  did  of  the 
Grand  Turk." 

After  this  conversation,  Pere  Goriot  and  his  young 
neighbor  became  intimate  friends.  Between  them  ex- 
isted the  sole  link  that  could  have  bound  the  old  man 
to  a  human  being.  Strong  passions  never  miscalculate. 
Pere  Goriot  saw  in  Rastignac  a  means  of  communica- 
tion with  his  daughters  and  the  possibility  of  drawing 
nearer  to  them  if  the  student  became  intimate  with 
the  baronne.  Eugene  was,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
the  most  engaging  young  fellow  he  had  ever  seen  ; 
and  the  old  man  admitted  him  to  his  friendship  and 
encouraged  an  intercourse  which  alone  has  made  it 
possible  for  us  to  relate  circumstantially  the  develop- 
ment of  this  tale. 


163  Pere  Goriot. 


XL 


THE  next  morning  at  breakfast  the  interest  with 
which  Pere  Goriot  looked  at  Eugene  as  he  took  his 
place  beside  him  at  the  breakfast  table,  the  few  words 
that  were  exchanged  between  them,  and  the  great 
change  in  the  old  man's  face,  usually  as  dull  as  a  lump 
of  plaster,  surprised  the  other  guests.  Vautrin,  who 
saw  the  student  for  the  first  time  since  their  conference, 
tried  to  read  his  soul.  During  the  night-watches  Eu- 
gene, far  too  restless  to  sleep,  had  surveyed  the  fields 
before  him,  and  having  naturally  thought  of  Mademoi- 
selle Taillefer  and  her  dot,  now  looked  at  her  as  the 
most  virtuous  young  man  in  the  world  looks  at  a  rich 
heiress.  It  happened  that  their  eyes  met.  The  poor 
girl  thought  Eugene  charming  in  his  new  clothes. 
The  glance  they  exchanged  was  significant  enough  to 
show  him  that  he  was  the  object  of  those  confused 
desires  which  come  into  the  hearts  of  all  young  girls 
and  attach  themselves  to  the  first  comer  who  proves 
attractive.  A  voice  within  him  cried,  "  Eight  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  !  "  Then,  with  a  look  at  Vautrin, 
he  went  back  to  recollections  of  the  opera,  and  fancied 
that  his  sham  passion  for  Madame  de  Nucingen  would 
be  the  antidote  to  involuntary  thoughts  of  evil. 

"They  gave  us  Rossini's  'Barber  of  Seville'  last 
night,"  he  said.  "I  never  heard  such  delicious  music. 


Pert  Goriot.  169 

Dear  me!  how  delightful  it  must  be  to  have  a  box  at 
the  opera  1 " 

Pere  Goriot  snatched  at  this  speech  like  a  dog 
snapping  at  a  morsel  flung  from  his  master's  hand. 

*'  Ali !  you  men  live  in  clover,"  cried  Madame 
Vauquer  ;  "  you  can  have  anything  you  wish  for." 

" How  did  you  get  home? "  asked  Vautrin. 

"  On  foot,"  said  Eugene. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  tempter, «'  I  don't  like  half 
pleasures.  I  should  prefer  to  drive  to  the  opera  in  my 
own  carriage,  sit  in  my  own  box,  and  come  home 
comfortably.  All  or  nothing,  —  that's  my  motto." 

"  And  a  very  good  one,"  said  Madame  Vauquer. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  see  Madame  de  Nucingen  to- 
day," said  Eugene  in  a  low  voice  to  Pere  Goriot. 
"  She  will  receive  you  with  open  arms ;  she  will  like 
to  hear  some  particulars  about  me.  I  have  heard  that 
she  wishes  to  be  invited  to  my  cousin's,  Madame  de 
Beauseant.  Don't  forget  to  tell  her  how  much  I 
admire  her,  and  that  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
procuring  her  the  invitation." 

Then  Rastignac  rose  and  went  off  to  his  lecture, 
not  caring  to  spend  a  moment  more  than  he  could  help 
in  that  odious  pension.  He  loitered  about  the  streets 
nearly  all  day  with  the  fever  of  youth  and  its  first 
hopes  coursing  through  his  veins.  He  was  pondering 
the  conditions  of  social  life  as  revealed  by  Vautrin's 
chain  of  reasoning  when  he  met  Bianchon  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Luxembourg. 

"  What  makes  you  so  grave,  old  fellow  ?  "  said  the 
medical  student,  taking  his  arm  as  they  walked  along 
the  front  of  the  palace. 


170  P3re  Goriot. 

"  I  am  tormented  by  evil  thoughts." 

"What  sort  of  evil  thoughts?  Tell  me;  thoughts 
can  be  ourc'l." 

"How?" 

"  By  giving  in  to  them." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  laughing  at.  Did 
you  ever  read  Rousseau  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Do  you  remember  where  he  asks  the  reader  what 
he  would  do  if  he  could  make  himself  rich  by  killing 
an  old  mandarin  in  China  by  simply  willing  it  in 
Paris?" 

"Yea." 

**  Well,  I  want  your  opinion.    What  would  you  do?  " 

"Pooh  !  I  've  got  to  my  thirty-third  mandarin." 

"  Don't  joke  ;  be  serious.  Suppose  it  was  proved  to 
you  that  such  a  thing  was  possible,  and  that  it  only 
needed  just  a  nod  from  you,  —  would  you  do  it?" 

"Is  the  mandarin  very  old? —  But,  bah!  young 
or  old,  well  or  paralyzed, —  Heavens  and  earth!  — 
the  deuce !  Well,  then  —  No  ! " 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Bianchon.  But  suppose 
you  loved  a  woman  well  enough  to  turn  your  soul 
wrong-side  out  for  her;  and  if  she  wanted  money, 
lots  of  money,  for  her  toilette,  her  carnage,  her 
whims  —  " 

*'  You  bewilder  my  faculties,  and  then  you  want  me 
to  reason ! " 

"  Well,  see  here !  Bianchon,  I  am  mad.  I  want 
you  to  cure  me.  I  have  two  sisters  who  are  angels  of 
beauty  and  goodness,  and  I  want  thorn  to  be  happy. 
How  can  I,  between  now  and  five  years  hence,  get 


P2re  Goriot.  171 

two  hundred  thousand  francs  for  their  dot?  There 
are  circumstances  you  know  in  which  one  must  play 
high  and  not  waste  one's  luck  in  winning  pennies." 

**  But  that 's  the  very  question  that  stands  upon  the 
threshold  of  every  man's  life;  and  yon  want  to  cut  the 
Gordian  knot  with  the  sword !  To  do  this,  my  dear 
fellow,  one  must  be  Alexander,  —  or  else  we  commit 
gome  crime  and  are  sent  to  the  galleys.  For  my  part, 
I  am  quite  content  with  the  life  which  I  expect  to  lead 
in  the  provinces,  where  I  shall  succeed  my  father  in  a 
commonplace  way.  After  all,  a  man's  affections  can 
be  as  fully  satisfied  in  a  little  round  as  in  a  vast  cir- 
cumference. Napoleon  could  not  eat  two  dinners  a 
day.  A  man's  happiness  lies  between  the  soles  of  his 
feet  and  the  crown  of  his  head.  Whether  that  happi- 
ness costs  a  million  of  francs  a  year,  or  a  hundred  louts, 
our  intrinsic  perception  of  it  is  the  same.  So  I  go  in 
for  letting  the  mandarin  alone." 

"Thank  you,  you  have  done  me  good,  Bianchon. 
Let  us  always  be  friends." 

"Look  here!"  resumed  the  medical  student,  as  they 
left  the  Cours  de  Cuvier  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes, 
'*  I  have  just  seen  old  Michonneau  and  Poiret  on  a 
bench  talking  with  a  man  whom  I  saw  during  the 
troubles  of  last  year  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  He  looks  to  me  like  a  police- 
spy  disguised  as  a  respectable  bourgeois  living  on 
his  income.  Let  us  watch  that  couple.  I  will  tell 
you  why  later.  Adieu,  I  must  be  off  to  the  four- 
o'clock  (•all.'" 

When  Eugene  returned  to  Madame  Vauquer's,  he 
found  Pere  Goriot  waiting  for  him. 


172  P$re  G-oriot. 

"See,"  said  the  old  man,  "here  is  a  note  from  her. 
Hein  /  what  pretty  writing !  " 

Eugene  broke  the  seal  and  read :  — 

MONSIEUR,  —  My  father  tells  me  that  you  are  fond  of 
Italian  music.  I  should  be  happy  if  you  would  do  me  the 
pleasure  to  accept  a  seat  in  my  hox  on  Saturday  next.  We 
shall  have  Fodor  and  Pellegrini  ;  I  am  sure  therefore  that 
you  will  not  refuse  my  invitation.  Monsieur  de  Nucingen 
joins  me  in  begging  you  to  dine  with  us  on  that  day  without 
ceremony.  If  you  accept,  you  will  render  him  grateful  to  be 
released  from  his  conjugal  duty  of  escorting  me  to  the  opera. 
Do  not  reply,  but  come.  Accept  my  compliments. 

D.  de  N. 

"Let  me  look  at  it,"  said  Pere  Goriot  to  Eugene 
when  he  had  read  the  letter.  "  You  will  certainly  go, 
won't  you?  "  he  added,  putting  his  cheek  to  the  paper. 
*'  How  good  it  smells  !  Her  lingers  have  touched  it !" 

"  A  woman  does  not  fling  herself  at  a  man  without 
some  motive,"  said  the  student  to  himself.  "  She 
must  want  to  make  use  of  me  to  get  de  Mai-say  back 
again.  Nothing  but  spite  could  account  for  her  send- 
ing me  such  a  letter." 

"  Well,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  "  what  are  you  thinking 
of?" 

Eugene  knew  nothing  of  a  social  delirium  that 
possessed  the  women  of  the  Chaussee  d'Antin  at  that 
period.  He  was  not  aware  that  the  wife  of  a  banker 
in  that  quarter  would  do  almost  anything  that  might 
open  her  way  into  the  salons  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain.  At  that  period  fashion  was  just  beginning 
to  exalt  above  all  other  women  those  who  composed 
the  society  of  the  old  nobility,  known  by  the  name  of 


Pere  G-oriot.  173 

Les  Dames  du  petit  Ohdteait.  Among  them  Madame 
de  Bcauseant,  her  friend  the  Duchesse  de  Langeais,  and 
the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  held  the  first  rank.  Ras- 
tignac  was  the  only  man  with  an  entree  to  these  houses 
who  was  not  aware  of  the  eagerness  of  the  Chaussee 
d'Antin  ladies  to  enter  that  superior  sphere  and  shine 
among  its  constellations.  But  his  mistrustfulness  be- 
friended him  on  this  occasion.  It  made  him  receive  the 
invitation  very  coldly,  and  gave  him  the  poor  power  of 
doing  a  favor  instead  of  accepting  one. 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  he  said. 

Thus  the  chief  motive  that  took  him  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen's  was  curiosity  ;  had  she  shown  indifference, 
he  might  have  been  influenced  by  passion.  Never- 
theless, he  looked  forward  to  the  meeting  with  some 
impatience,  and  enjoyed,  as  he  dressed  for  dinner, 
all  those  little  satisfactions  which  young  people  are 
ashamed  to  speak  of  for  fear  of  ridicule,  but  which 
pleasantly  stimulate  their  self-love.  Pie  thought  as 
he  arranged  his  hair  how  the  eyes  of  a  pretty  woman 
would  linger  among  the  black  curls;  he  played  the 
little  tricks  and  vanities  of  a  young  girl  dressing  for 
her  first  ball,  and  smiled  at  the  reflection  of  his  slim 
figure  as  he  smoothed  out  the  folds  of  his  new  coat, 
and  turned  himself  about  before  the  glass. 

"  One  thing  is  very  certain,"  he  said  complacently  ; 
"  it  is  not  every  man  who  is  well-made." 

He  went  downstairs  at  the  moment  when  the  house- 
hold were  sitting  down  to  dinner,  and  laughed  as  he 
received  a  broadside  of  nonsensical  remarks  on  his 
elegant  appearance.  The  excitement  produced  by  any 
attention  to  the  toilet  is  a  trait  of  manners  peculiar  to 


174  Pere  G-oriot. 

pensions  bourgeoises,  where  every  one  has  a  word  to 
say  on  the  unaccustomed  appearance  of  a  new  dress  or 
a  new  coat. 

"  Kt,  kt,  kt,  kt ! "  cried  Bianchon,  clicking  his  tongue 
as  if  exciting  a  horse. 

"  Duke  and  peer  of  France!"  said  Madame  Vauqner. 

"Monsieur  is  arrayed  for  conquest,"  observed  Ma- 
demoiselle Michonneau. 

"  Cock-a-doodle-doo  !  "  crowed  the  painter. 

"  My  compliments  to  your  wife,"  said  the  employe 
at  the  museum. 

"  Has  Monsieur  a  wife  ?  "  asked  Poiret. 

"  A  wife  in  compartments  —  that  will  go  in  the  wa- 
ter —  warranted  fast  colors  —  at  all  prices  from  twenty- 
five  to  forty  —  the  most  fashionable  patterns  in  plaids  — 
sure  to  wash  —  very  pretty  wear  —  half  thread,  half 
cotton,  half  wool  —  cures  the  toothache  and  all  other 
maladies  under  the  patronage  of  the  Academy  of 
Medicine  —  excellent  for  children  —  better  still  for 
head-ache,  plethora,  and  other  affections  of  the  stomach, 
ears,  and  eyes!  "  —  cried  Vautrin,  with  the  intonation 
and  volubility  of  an  auctioneer.  "  How  much  do  you 
bid  for  this  wonder,  gentlemen?  Two  sous!  What 
did  you  say?  Nothing?  It  is  the  last  article  made 
for  the  Great  Mogul,  which  all  the  Reigning  Sov- 
ereigns of  Europe,  including  the  Gr-r-r-r-r-rand  Duke 
of  Baden,  have  been  on  the  look-out  for.  Walk  in  ; 
keep  straight  before  you  ;  pass  into  the  inner  office. 
Strike  up  the  music!  Brooum,  la,  la,  trinn !  la,  la, 
bourn,  bourn !  Monsieur  the  clarionet,  you  are  out 
of  tune,"  he  went  on  in  a  hoarse  voice ;  "  I  '11  rap  you 
over  the  knuckles  !  " 


Pere  G-oriot.  175 

"  Mon  Dieu !  how  agreeable  that  man  can  make 
himself!"  said  Madame  Vauquer  to  Madame  Couture, 
"  I  should  never  have  a  moment's  ennui  if  I  lived  with 
him." 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  and  the  jokes  led  off 
by  this  absurdity,  Eugene  intercepted  a  furtive  glance 
of  admiration  from  Mademoiselle  Taillefer,  who  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  her  aunt's  ear. 

*'  The  cabriolet  is  here,"  announced  Sylvie. 

"Where  does  he  dine?"  asked  Bianchon. 

"  With  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Nucingen." 

"  Pere  Goriot's  daughter,"  added  the  student. 

At  these  words  everybody  looked  at  the  old  man, 
who  was  gazing  at  Eugene  with  envy  in  his  eyes. 

Rastignac  found  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare 
one  of  those  flimsy  buildings,  with  slim  pillars  and  fan- 
ciful porticos,  which  in  Paris  are  classed  as  pretty;  a 
banker's  house,  in  short, —  overloaded  with  costly  orna- 
ment and  stucco,  the  halls  and  staircase-landings  inlaid 
with  marbles.  Madame  de  Nucingen  received  him  in 
a  small  room  filled  with  Italian  pictures  and  decorated 
in  the  style  of  a  restaurant.  She  seemed  to  be  in 
trouble,  and  the  efforts  which  she  made  to  conceal  her 
feelings  affected  Eugene  all  the  more  because  they 
were  evidently  genuine.  He  came  expecting  to  charm 
her  by  his  presence ;  he  found  her  the  image  of  des- 
pair, and  the  disappointment  piqued  his  self-love. 

"  I  have  little  claim  to  your  confidence,  Madame," 
he  said,  after  bantering  her  slightly  on  her  preoccupa- 
tion, "and  if  I  am  in  your  way  I  count  upon  your 
kindness  to  tell  me  so  frankly." 


176  Pere  Goriot. 

"  No,  stay,"  she  said ;  "  I  should  be  alone  if  you  left 
me.  Nucingen  dines  out  to-day,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  alone.  I  need  something  to  interest  me." 

"  What  troubles  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  last  person  I  could  tell  it  to,"  she 
cried. 

"But  you  must  tell  me.  Have  I  anything  to  do 
with  it?" 

"  Perhaps  —  But,  no  ! "  she  resumed,  "  it  is  one  of 
those  family  quarrels  that  ought  to  be  hidden  from 
other  eyes.  Did  I  not  tell  you  the  other  evening  that 
I  am  far  from  happy?  A  chain  of  gold  is  the  heaviest 
to  bear." 

When  a  woman  tells  a  young  man  that  she  is  not 
happy,  and  when  the  young  man  is  clever,  handsome, 
well-dressed,  and  has  fifteen  hundred  francs  worth  of 
leisure  in  his  pocket,  he  will  probably  think  all  that 
Rastignac  now  thought,  and  speak  as  he  did,  —  like  a 
coxcomb. 

"  What  can  you  lack  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  are  young, 
beautiful,  wealthy,  and  — beloved!  " 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  of  myself,"  she  cried,  arresting 
him  with  a  gesture.  "  We  will  dine  together  tete-a-tete, 
and  then  go  and  hear  some  delicious  music.  Do  you 
like  me  in  this  dress?"  she  continued,  rising  and  dis- 
playing a  robe  of  white  cashmere  embroidered  with 
Persian  designs,  very  elegant  and  costly. 

"  I  would  you  Were  altogether  mine  !  "  cried  Eugene. 
"  You  are  lovely ! " 

"  You  would  have  a  melancholy  possession,"  she  said 
with  a  bitter  smile.  "  Nothing  about  me  indicates 
unhappinees,  and  yet  in  spite  of  appearances  I  am 


Pere  Goriot.  177 

wretched.  I  cannot  sleep  for  thinking  of  my  troubles. 
I  am  growing  ugly  —  " 

"  Oh,  that  can  never  be  !  "  cried  the  student.  "  Tell 
me,  what  troubles  have  you  that  my  devotion  cannot 
cure  ?  " 

"  Ah !  if  I  told  you,  you  would  turn  and  leave  me," 
she  said ;  "  your  love  for  me  is  only  the  conventional 
gallantry  that  men  affect  towards  women.  If  you 
really  loved  me,  and  I  were  to  tell  you  my  troubles 
you  would  fall  into  despair.  So  you  see  I  must  not 
tell  you.  For  pity's  sake,"  she  added,  "  let  us  talk  of 
other  things.  Come  and  see  my  apartments." 

"  No,  let  us  stay  here,"  said  Eugene,  seating  himself 
on  a  low  couch  near  the  fire  beside  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen,  and  taking  her  hand  with  assurance.  She  allowed 
him  to  do  so,  and  even  pressed  his  fingers  with  the  ner- 
vous grasp  that  betrays  strong  emotion. 

"  Listen ! "  said  Rastignac,  "  if  you  have  griefs,  con- 
fide them  to  me.  Let  me  prove  how  much  I  love  you. 
Either  speak,  and  tell  me  these  troubles  and  let  me  help 
you,  —  I  am  capable  of  killing  six  men  for  your  sake,  — 
or  I  will  leave  this  house  never  to  return." 

"  Well,  then  !  "  she  exclaimed,  moved  by  an  impulse 
which  made  her  strike  her  forehead  with  her  hand,  '*  I 
will  put  you  to  the  proof  at  once.  Yes,"  she  added, 
"  there  is  no  other  way." 

She  rang  the  bell. 

"  Is  Monsieur's  carriage  waiting  ?  "  she  said  to  the 
servant. 

"  Yes,  Madame." 

"  I  will  take  it.  You  can  give  him  mine  and  my 
horses.  You  need  not  serve  dinner  till  seven  o'clock." 
12 


178  Pere  Goriot. 

"  Now,  come,"  nhe  said  to  Eugene,  who  found  himself 
as  in  a  dream  sitting  beside  her  in  Monsieur  de  Nucin- 
gen's  coupe. 

"  To  the  Palais-Royal,"  she  said  to  the  coachman, 
"  and  stop  near  the  Theatre  Franqais." 

As  they  drove  on  she  seemed  greatly  agitated,  and 
would  not  answer  Eugene,  who  knew  not  what  to 
think  of  the  mute  obtuse  resistance  she  opposed  to  his 
inquiries. 

"  In  another  moment  she  may  escape  me,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

When  the  carriage  stopped,  she  looked  at  him  with 
an  expression  which  silenced  the  foolish  speeches  he 
was  beginning  to  utter. 

"Do  you  love  me  then  so  very  much  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  concealing  his  uneasiness. 

"You  will  think  no  evil  of  me  whatever  I  ask  of 
you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Will  you  obey  me  ?  " 

«  Blindly." 

"  Did  you  ever  go  to  a  gambling-house  ?  "  and  her 
voice  trembled. 

"  Never." 

"Ah!  then  I  breathe.  You  will  have  luck.  Here 
is  my  purse.  Take  it,"  she  said,  "  yes,  take  it.  There 
are  one  hundred  francs  in  it,  —  all  the  money  owned 
by  this  wealthy  and  fortunate  woman !  Go  into 
some  gambling-room.  I  do  not  know  where  they 
are,  but  I  know  there  are  many  in  the  Palais-Royal. 
Stake  these  hundred  francs  at  a  game  they  call  rou- 
lette, and  either  lose  them  all  or  bring  me  back  six 


Pere  Croriot.  179 

thousand  francs.  I  will  tell  you  my  troubles  when 
you  return." 

"  The  devil  take  me  if  I  understand  what  you  wish 
me  to  do,  but  I  am  ready  to  obey  you,"  he  said,  reflect- 
ing with  satisfaction  that  she  was  thus  putting  herself 
in  his  power. 

He  took  the  pretty  purse  and  hastened  to  Number 
Nine,  after  obtaining  from  a  neighboring  shopkeeper 
the  direction  of  the  nearest  gambling-house.  He  went 
upstairs,  permitted  an  attendant  to  take  his  hat,  and 
entered  the  room,  where  he  asked  to  be  shown  the 
roulette.  All  present  looked  astonished  as  the  man  in 
attendance  took  him  to  a  long  table.  Eugene,  who 
was  followed  by  the  whole  company,  asked,  without 
the  least  embarrassment,  where  he  was  to  place  his 
money. 

"  If  you  put  one  louis  on  any  of  these  thirty-six  num- 
bers and  it  comes  up,  you  will  win  thirty-six  louis"  said 
a  respectable-looking  old  man  with  white  hair. 

Eugene  placed  the  whole  hundred  francs  on  the 
number  of  his  own  age,  —  twenty-one.  A  cry  of  aston- 
ishment broke  from  every  one  before  he  knew  himself 
what  had  happened.  He  had  won. 

"  Take  up  your  money,"  said  the  old  gentleman ; 
"  people  do  not  win  twice  in  that  way." 

Eugene  took  a  rake  which  the  speaker  handed  to 
him,  and  drew  in  three  thousand  six  hundred  francs. 
Once  more,  knowing  nothing  of  the  game,  he  placed 
his  money  on  the  red.  The  bystanders  looked  at  him 
with  envy,  seeing  that  he  played  on.  The  wheel  turned, 
—  he  won  again  ;  and  the  croupier  threw  him  another 
three  thousand  six  hundred  francs. 


180  Pere  Goriot. 

"  You  have  won  seven  thousand  two  hundred  francs," 
whispered  the  old  gentleman.  "  Tnke  my  advice  and 
go  away.  The  red  has  come  up  eight  times.  If  you 
are  kind-hearted,  you  will  acknowledge  my  good  ad- 
vice and  have  pity  on  the  poverty  of  an  old  prefect 
of  Napoleon,  who  is  penniless." 

Rastignac,  bewildered,  suffered  the  old  man  with  the 
snow-white  hair  to  help  himself  to  ten  louis,  and  then 
went  downstairs  with  his  seven  thousand  francs,  under- 
standing nothing  of  the  game,  and  stupefied  by  his 
good  fortune. 

"Ah,  faf  where  will  you  take  me  now?"  he  said, 
showing  the  seven  thousand  francs  to  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen  as  soon  as  the  carriage  door  was  shut. 

Delphine  threw  her  arms  about  him  and  kissed  him 
effusively,  but  without  passion. 

"You  have  saved  me!"  she  cried.  Tears  flowed 
down  her  cheeks.  "  I  will  tell  you  all,  my  friend,  — 
for  you  are  my  friend,  are  you  not  ?  You  see  me 
rich  and  prosperous.  I  want  for  nothing  —  so  it  seems 
to  you  ?  Well,  then,  I  must  tell  you  that  Monsieur  de 
Nucingen  does  not  give  me  a  single  penny  to  spend  as 
I  choose.  He  pays  for  everything,  —  for  the  household, 
for  rny  carriages,  even  my  opera-box.  He  allows  me 
a  sum  insufficient  for  my  toilette  ;  he  has  reduced  me 
to  secret  poverty.  I  am  too  proud  to  beg  for  money. 
Do  you  ask  why,  when  I  brought  him  seven  hundred 
thousand  francs,  I  have  suffered  myself  to  be  thus 
despoiled?  Through  pride,  through  indignation!  A 
girl  is  so  young,  so  easily  deceived,  when  she  is  first 
married.  To  have  asked  my  husband  for  money  then 
would  have  scorched  my  mouth  ;  I  dared  not.  I  lived 


Pere  Q-oriot.  181 

on  what  I  had  saved,  and  on  what  I  could  get  from  my 
poor  father.  Then  I  ran  in  debt.  My  marriage  from 
first  to  last  has  been  a  horrible  deception ;  I  cannot 
speak  of  it.  We  live  apart ;  I  would  rather  fling  my- 
self from  a  window  than  be  reconciled  to  him.  When 
I  was  forced  to  tell  him  of  my  debts,  for  jewelry  and 
various  whims  and  trifles  (my  poor  father  had  accus- 
tomed ns  to  every  indulgence),  I  suffered  martyrdom. 
At  last  I  took  courage  and  made  my  confession —  had 
I  not  brought  him  a  fortune  ?  Nucingen  was  furi- 
ous. He  said  I  should  ruin  him  —  Oh !  he  said  such 
horrible  things!  I  wished  myself  a  hundred  feet 
under  ground.  He  paid  my  bills  on  that  occasion  be- 
cause he  had  possession  of  my  dot  ;  but  he  stipulated 
that  in  future  I  should  take  a  fixed  annual  allowance 
for  my  personal  expenses.  I  agreed,  for  the  sake  of 
peace.  Since  then  I  have  been  anxious  to  do  credit 
to  one  whom  you  know  of,"  she  continued.  "  He  has 
not  been  true  to  me,  but  I  must  not  cease  to  do  justice 
to  the  nobleness  of  his  character.  He  has  cruelly  for- 
saken me.  —  Oh  !  no  one  should  forsake  a  woman,  es- 
pecially when  they  have  flung  her  a  pile  of  money  in 
the  day  of  her  distress —  oh  !  they  ought  to  love  her 
always.  You,  with  the  nobility  of  youth,  pure  and 
fresh,  you  may  well  ask  me  how  a  woman  could  take 
gold  from  a  man  in  that  relation !  But  is  it  not  natu- 
ral to  have  all  things  in  common  with  those  to  whom 
we  owe  our  happiness?  Money  has  no  importance 
in  itself,  —  none,  until  love  grows  cold.  Do  we  not 
fancy  that  love  will  last  a  lifetime  ?  Who  calculates 
on  separation?  Shall  those  who  have  vowed  to  be 
true  eternally  set  up  divided  interests?  I  can  never 


182  Pere  Goriot. 

tell  what  I  suffered  to-day  when  Nucingen  refused  to 
give  me  six  thousand  francs, — less  than  he  gives  each 
month  to  his  mistress,  a  danseuse  at  the  opera!  I 
longed  to  kill  myself :  I  envied  my  own  waiting-maid. 
Ask  my  father  for  money  ?  —  it  would  be  madness. 
Anastasie  and  I  have  ruined  him.  My  poor  father 
would  sell  himself  for  either  of  us,  if  any  one  would 
pay  six  thousand  francs  for  him.  I  should  drive  him 
to  despair  in  vain.  You  have  saved  me  from  shame, 
from  death  !  I  was  frantic  in  my  wretchedness.  Ah ! 
Monsieur,  I  owe  you  this  explanation.  I  have  been 
beside  myself  this  evening,  —  let  that  be  my  excuse. 
When  you  left  me,  when  I  lost  sight  of  you,  I  had  an 
impulse  to  jump  from  the  carriage  and  flee  away  on 
foot,  I  knew  not  whither.  Such  is  the  life  led  by  half 
the  women  of  Paris,  —  luxury  without,  and  bitter  cares 
within.  I  know  poor  creatures  more  wretched  than  I 
am.  There  are  women  who  get  their  creditors  to  send 
in  false  accounts,  and  rob  their  husbands.  Some  men 
believe  that  cashmeres  worth  two  thousand  francs  are 
sold  for  five  hundred ;  others  that  a  shawl  worth  five 
hundred  francs  costs  a  thousand.  There  are  women 
who  even  starve  their  children ;  women  who  will  com- 
mit any  meanness  to  get  enough  to  buy  a  gown.  I 
am  pure  at  least  from  such  deceptions.  Ah!  to-night 
Monsieur  de  Marsay  will  no  longer  have  the  right  to 
think  of  me  as  a  woman  he  has  paid !  "  She  dropped 
her  face  between  her  hands  that  Eugene  might  not 
see  her  tears;  but  he  drew  them  away  and  looked 
at  her. 

"  To  mix  up  money  with  love !  —  is  it  not  horrible  ?" 
she  said.     "  You  can  never  think  well  of  me  ! " 


Pere  Goriot.  183 

This  union  of  good  feelings  and  acquired  faults,  — 
faults  forced  upon  her  by  the  corrupt  society  in  which 
she  lived, — overcame  Eugene,  who  said  soft  words  of 
consolation  as  he  gazed  at  the  beautiful  creature  so 
naively  imprudent  in  the  excitement  of  her  grief. 

"  You  will  not  turn  this  confession  against  me  ? 
Promise  me  that  you  never  will,"  she  said. 

"Ah,  Madame,  I  am  incapable  of  doing  so." 

She  took  his  hand  and  placed  it  on  her  heart,  with  a 
gesture  full  of  grace  and  gratitude.  "  Thanks  to  you 
I  am  free  and  happy.  I  was  pressed  to  earth  by  an 
iron  hand.  I  am  free  ;  I  will  live  simply  from  this 
moment ;  I  will  spend  little.  You  will  like  me  as  I  am, 
will  you  not?  —  as  I  am,  my  friend.  Keep  this,"  she 
added,  retaining  six  notes  of  a  thousand  francs,  and 
offering  Rastignac  the  seventh.  "  In  "strict  justice  I 
owe  you  half,  for  I  consider  that  we  are  partners." 

Eugene  protested  with  a  sense  of  shame,  till  Madame 
de  Nucingen  exclaimed,  "  I  shall  regard  you  as  my 
enemy  if  you  refuse  to  be  my  accomplice." 

"  Then  I  will  hold  it  in  reserve  in  case  of  future  ill- 
luck,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  note. 

"  Ah !  that  is  what  I  feared,"  she  said,  turning  pale. 
"  If  you  wish  me  to  be  your  friend,  promise  me  — 
swear  to  me  —  that  you  will  never  return  to  the  gam- 
bling table.  Alas,  alas !  think  of  my  corrupting  you ! 
I  ought  to  perish  sooner !  " 

Thus  they  reached  the  house  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare. 
The  contrast  of  its  opulence  with  the  poverty  of  its 
mistress  stunned  the  student,  in  whose  ears  the  words 
of  Vautrin  re-echoed  as  with  fatal  ty-uth. 

"  Sit  there,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen,  pointing  to 


184  Pere  G-oriot. 

a  sofa  near  the  fire,  when  they  entered  her  room.  "  I 
have  to  write  a  trying  letter.  Give  me  your  advice." 

"  Do  not  write  at  all,"  said  Eugene.  "  Put  the  notes 
in  an  envelope,  address  it  merely,  and  send  the  letter 
by  your  waiting-maid." 

"Oh!  you  are  too  delightful!"  she  cried.  "See, 
Monsieur,  what  it  is  to  have  been  brought  up  in  the 
traditions  of  good  breeding.  Ceci  est  du  Beauseant 
tout  pur"  she  added,  smiling. 

"  She  is  charming,"  thought  Eugene,  pleased  with 
the  flattery.  He  looked  round  the  room,  which  was 
arranged  with  a  meretricious  taste  better  suited,  he 
thought,  to  the  quartier  Breda. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  asked  Madame  de  Nucingen, 
ringing  for  her  maid.  "  Therese,  take  this  letter  to 
Monsieur  de  Marsay.  Give  it  into  his  own  hand.  If 
you  do  not  find  him,  bring  it  back." 

As  Therese  left  the  room  she  threw  an  inquisitive 
glance  at  Eugene.  Dinner  was  now  served,  and 
Rastignac  gave  his  arm  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  who 
led  him  into  a  gorgeous  dining-room  where  he  again 
found  all  the  table  luxury  he  had  admired  at  his 
cousin's. 

"  On  the  nights  of  the  Italian  opera  you  must 
always  dine  with  me,"  she  said,  "  and  escort  me  to  the 
theatre." 

"  I  could  soon  accustom  myself  to  so  delightful  a 
life  if  it  would  only  last,"  he  answered ;  "  but  I  am 
a  poor  student,  with  my  fortune  to  make." 

"  It  will  make  itself,"  she  said  laughing ;  "  you  see 
how  things  come  to  pass.  I  little  expected  to  be  so 
happy." 


Pere  Goriot.  185 

It  is  the  nature  of  women  to  argue  the  impossible 
from  the  possible,  and  to  destroy  facts  by  building  on 
presentiments. 

When  Madame  de  Nucingen  and  Rastignac  entered 
their  box  at  the  opera  she  was  so  beautiful  in  her 
recovered  peace  of  mind  that  people  began  to  whisper 
those  trifling  calumnies  against  which  women  are 
defenceless,  however  false  may  be  the  premises  on 
which  they  are  based.  Those  who  know  Paris  well 
are  careful  to  believe  nothing  that  they  hear,  and  also 
to  tell  nothing  that  they  know.  Eugene  took  the 
hand  of  his  companion,  and  they  silently  communicated 
to  each  other  by  pressure  the  sensations  with  which 
the  music  flooded  their  souls.  The  evening  was  full  of 
enchantment,  and  when  they  left  the  Opera  House 
Madame  de  Nucingen  insisted  on  taking  Eugene  as 
far  as  the  Pont-Neuf,  disputing  with  him  on  the  way 
another  of  those  kisses  which  she  had  given  him  of  her 
own  accord  in  the  Palais-Royal.  Eugene  reproached 
her  for  the  inconsistency. 

"No  —  then"  she  said,  "it  was  gratitude  for  an 
unexpected  deliverance ;  now  it  would  be  a  pledge  —  " 

"  And  you  will  not  grant  me  that  pledge,"  he  said, 
half  angrily.  She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience  and 
gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  which  he  took  with  an  ill 
grace  that  completely  charmed  her. 

"  Monday  —  at  the  ball,"  she  said  as  they  parted. 

Eugene  walked  home  in  the  brilliant  moonlight 
with  his  mind  full  of  serious  reflections.  He  was 
pleased  and  yet  dissatisfied:  pleased  at  an  adventure 
which  threw  him  into  the  closest  intimacy  with  one  of 
the  prettiest  and  most  fashionable  women  of  Paris ; 


186  P$re  Goriot. 

dissatisfied  at  seeing  his  projects  for  the  future  over- 
thrown, —  for  he  now  perceived  how  much  he  had 
really  built  upon  the  vague  visions  of  the  day  before. 
Want  of  success  increases  rather  than  diminishes  the 
strength  of  our  wishes.  The  more  Eugene  tasted  the 
pleasures  of  Parisian  life,  the  less  he  liked  the  prospect 
of  toil  and  poverty.  He  fingered  the  bank-note  in  his 
pocket,  and  thought  of  a  hundred  reasons  to  justify 
him  in  keeping  it.  As  he  reached  the  Rue  Neuve 
Sainte-Genevieve  and  ran  upstairs,  he  saw  a  light  on 
the  landing.  Pere  Goriot  had  left  his  door  ajar  and 
his  rush-light  burning,  that  the  student  might  not 
forget  to  come  in  and  relate  to  him  his  daughter,  as  he 
expressed  it.  Eugene  told  him  everything. 

"What!"  cried  Pere  Goriot,  in  a  transport  of 
jealous  despair,  "do  they  think  me  ruined?  I  have 
still  an  income  of  thirteen  hundred  francs.  JJbn 
Dieu!  my  poor  darling,  why  did  she  not  come  to  me? 
I  could  have  sold  out  my  stocks.  I  could  have  given 
her  what  she  wanted  from  the  capital,  and  bought  an 
annuity  with  the  rest.  Why  did  you  not  come  and 
tell  me,  my  good  neighbor?  How  could  you  have  had 
the  heart  to  risk  her  poor  little  hundred  francs.  It 
breaks  my  heart —  This  is  what  it  is  to  have  sons- 
in-law!  And  she  wept  —  you  say  she  wept?  —  my 
Delphine,  who  never  wept  before  when  she  was  my 
own  little  one !  By  her  marriage  contract  she  is 
entitled  to  her  money.  I  shall  see  Derville  the  law- 
yer, to-morrow.  I  shall  insist  on  the  separate  invest- 
ment of  her  fortune.  I  know  the  law.  I  am  an  old 
wolf  —  yes !  and  I  shall  get  the  use  of  my  teeth 
again ! " 


Pere  Goriot.  187 

"  See,  pere,  here  are  a  thousand  francs  which  she 
insisted  on  giving  me  out  of  our  winnings.  Keep 
them  for  her." 

Goriot  looked  at  Eugene  and  grasped  his  hand,  on 
which  the  old  man  dropped  a  tear. 

"  You  will  succeed  in  life,"  he  said.  "God  is  just, 
you  know.  I  know  what  honesty  is,  and  I  tell  you 
few  men  would  have  done  as  you  have  done.  My  son, 
go  now ;  go  —  and  sleep.  You  can  sleep,  for  you  are 
not  yet  a  father  —  Oh,  she  wept !  While  I  was 
quietly  eating  my  dinner,  dull  fool  that  I  am,  she  was 
suffering!  I — who  would  sell  my  soul  to  save  them 
from  unhappiness  !  " 

"  On  my  honor,"  said  Eugene,  as  he  laid  his  head 
on  his  pillow,  "  I  will  be  an  honest  man  as  long  as  I 
live.  There  is  great  happiness  in  following  the  in- 
spirations of  one's  conscience." 

Perhaps  none  but  those  who  believe  in  a  good  God 
can  do  good  in  secret.  Eugene  was  a  believer  still. 

On  the  evening  of  the  ball  Rastignac  went  to 
Madame  de  Beauseant's,  who  took  him  with  her  and 
presented  him  to  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano.  He  had 
a  gracious  reception  from  the  Marechale,  and  found 
Madame  de  Nucingen  already  there.  Delphine,  who 
had  dressed  with  the  intention  of  pleasing  others  that 
she  might  the  better  please  Eugene,  waited  impatiently 
to  catch  his  eye,  though  carefully  concealing  her  im- 
patience. For  one  who  can  read  a  woman's  heart 
such  a  moment  is  full  of  charm.  What  man  does  not 
delight  in  making  a  woman  wait  eagerly  for  his 
judgment,  disguising  his  own  pleasure  that  he  may 


188  Pere  G-oriot. 

win  this  signal  of  her  preference,  enjoying  her  uneasi- 
ness as  he  plays  upon  the  fears  he  can  set  at  rest  by  a 
smile  ? 

As  the  evening  advanced,  Rastignac  began  to  per- 
ceive the  full  bearings  of  his  position,  and  to  under- 
stand that  he  held  rank  among  those  around  him  as 
the  acknowledged  cousin  of  Madame  de  Beauseant. 
The  conquest  of  Madame  de  Nucingen,  with  which  he 
was  credited,  placed  him  at  once  under  observation  ; 
young  men  looked  at  him  with  envy,  and  as  he  caught 
their  glances  he  tasted  the  first  sweets  of  gratified 
social  vanity.  Passing  from  room  to  room  and  from 
group  to  group,  he  heard  his  own  praises ;  ladies  pre- 
dicted his  success  ;  and  Delphine,  afraid  of  losing  him, 
promised  not  to  refuse  the  kiss  she  had  denied  him  the 
day  before.  He  received  several  invitations  during 
the  evening,  and  was  presented  by  his  cousin  to  a  num- 
ber of  ladies  noted  for  their  elegance,  whose  houses 
ranked  among  the  most  agreeable  in  the  Faubourg. 
Thus  he  found  himself  admitted  into  the  inner  circle 
of  the  great  world  of  Paris.  This  evening  was  for 
him  a  brilliant  debut,  remembered  to  the  last  hour  of 
his  life,  as  a  young  girl  remembers  the  ball  where  she 
won  her  first  triumphs. 

The  next  morning,  at  the  breakfast-table,  when  he 
began  to  relate  his  successes  to  Pere  Goriot  in  pre- 
sence of  the  other  guests,  Vautrin  listened  with  diabol- 
ical amusement  to  the  tale. 

"  Now,  do  you  really  think,"  exclaimed  that  fierce 
logician,  "  that  a  young  man  of  fashion  can  continue  to 
live  in  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  in  the  Maison 
Vauquer?  —  a.  pension  infinitely  respectable  in  every 


Pere  Goriot.  189 

•way,  no  doubt,  but  which  assuredly  is  not  fashiona- 
ble. It  is  comfortable,  it  is  cosey,  delightful  in  its  abun- 
dance, proud  of  being  temporarily  the  abode  of  a  de 
Kastignac ;  but  after  all  it  is  in  the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte- 
Genevieve,  and  it  boasts  no  luxury,  —  being  above  all 
things  patriarchalorama.  My  young  friend,"  contin- 
ued Vautrin,  with  paternal  irony,  "if  you  hope  to 
make  a  figure  in  Paris,  you  must  have  three  horses 
and  a  tilbury  for  the  morning,  and  a  coupe  for  the 
evening:  nine  thousand  francs  for  the  equipages  alone. 
You  will  fall  shamefully  below  the  requirements  of 
your  destiny  if  you  spend  less  than  three  thousand 
with  your  tailor,  six  hundred  with  your  perfumer, 
and  six  hundred  more  between  your  bootmaker  and 
your  hatter.  As  for  your  washerwoman,  she  will 
cost  you  a  thousand  francs.  Young  men  of  fash- 
ion are  above  all  things  bound  to  be  irreproachable 
in  the  matter  of  washing.  Love  and  the  Church 
alike  demand  fine  linen.  Now,  we  have  got  up  to 
fourteen  thousand.  I  don't  count  all  that  cards  and 
bets  and  presents  will  cost  you,  —  you  certainly  can't 
do  with  less  than  two  thousand  francs  a  year  for 
pocket-money.  I  have  led  that  life  myself,  and  I 
know  how  it  goes.  Now,  add  to  these  things  —  which 
are  indispensable,  mind  you  —  three  hundred  louis  for 
subsistence,  and  a  thousand  francs  for  rent.  That 
brings  us  up,  my  boy,  to  the  pretty  little  sum  of  twen- 
ty-five thousand  francs  a  year,  which  we  must  have  in . 
hand,  or  over  we  go  into  the  mud,  with  people  laugh- 
ing at  us,  and  our  future  lost,  —  including  all  our 
youthful  dreams  of  fortune  and  women  !  Ah  !  I  forgot 
the  groom  and  the  valet.  Could  Christophe  carry 


190  Pere  Goriot. 

your  lillets-doux?  Shall  you  write  them  upon  law- 
paper?  My  dear  boy,  you  would  cut  your  throat. 
Take  the  advice  of  an  old  man  full  of  experience,"  he 
concluded ;  "  either  transport  yourself  into  a  virtuous 
garret  and  wed  toil,  or  —  choose  some  other  way  to 
reach  your  end." 

Here  Vautrin  glanced  at  Mademoiselle  Taillefer, 
with  an  eye  that  recalled  and  emphasized  the  seduc- 
tive arguments  he  had  already  dropped  into  the  stu- 
dent's heart  to  breed  corruption. 


Pere  Goriot.  191 


XII. 

SEVERAL  clays  passed,  and  Rastignac  led  a  dissipated 
life.  He  dined  constantly  with  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen,  and  accompanied  her  into  the  great  world, 
getting  home  at  three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
He  usually  rose  at  midday  and  made  his  toilet ;  after 
which,  if  it  were  fine,  he  drove  to  the  Bois  with  Del- 
phine,  —  idling  away  his  days  withoiit  thought  of  their 
value,  and  assimilating  the  lessons  and  seductions  of 
luxury  with  the  eagerness  of  the  female  date-tree  as  it 
absorbs  the  fecundating  pollen  from  the  atmosphere. 
He  played  high,  lost  and  Avon  heavily,  and  soon  accus- 
tomed himself  to  the  extravagant  habits  of  the  young 
men  around  him.  Out  of  the  first  money  which  he 
won  he  sent  fifteen  hundred  francs  to  his  mother  and 
sisters,  accompanying  the  restitution  with  some  pretty 
presents.  Although  he  had  given  out  his  intention  to 
quit  the  Maison  Vauquer,  he  was  still  there  in  the  last 
week  of  January,  and  did  not  well  see  how  he  could 
get  away.  Young  men  are  governed  by  a  law  that 
seems  at  first  sight  inexplicable,  but  which  springs 
from  their  youth  and  from  the  species  of  madness  with 
which  they  fling  themselves  into  the  enjoyments  of 
life.  Be  they  rich  or  be  they  poor,  they  never  have 
money  enough  for  the  necessities  of  living,  though 
they  always  find  the  wherewithal  to  spend  on  their 
caprices.  Lavish  when  they  can  buy  on  credit,  stingy 


192  Pere  Croriot. 

as  to  all  that  they  must  pay  for  in  hard  cash,  they 
seem  to  indemnify  themselves  for  the  lack  of  what  they 
crave  by  squandering  what  they  have.  Thus,  —  by 
way  of  illustration,  —  a  student  takes  more  care  of  his 
hat  than  he  does  of  his  coat.  The  enormous  profit  of 
the  tailor  makes  it  reasonable  that  he  should  wait  for 
his  money ;  but  the  small  gains  of  a  hatter  render  him 
impervious  to  the  question  of  credit.  Though  the 
young  man  sitting  in  the  balcon  of  a  theatre  may  dis- 
play to  the  opera-glasses  of  pretty  women  the  most 
magnificent  of  waistcoats,  no  one  can  be  certain  that 
his  socks  would  bear  inspection  :  the  hosier  is  one  of 
those  who  must  be  paid  in  ready  money.  Rastignac 
had  reached  this  point  in  his  career.  His  purse,  always 
empty  for  Madame  Vauquer,  always  full  for  the  needs 
of  vanity,  had  its  ups  and  downs,  its  ebbs  and  flows, 
which  by  no  means  agreed  with  the  natural  demands 
upon  it.  Before  quitting  that  abject  and  evil-smelling 
abode,  where  his  new  pretensions  were  daily  humili- 
ated, must  he  not  pay  a  month's  lodging  to  his  land- 
lady, and  buy  furniture  fit  for  a  man  of  fashion  before 
he  could  install  himself  in  a  new  apartment?  This 
remained  steadfastly  the  thing  impossible.  To  get 
money  for  the  gambling-table,  Rastignac  had  readily 
found  out  how  to  buy  watches  and  chains  from  his 
jeweller  at  enormous  prices,  to  be  paid  for  out  of  his 
winnings,  and  to  be  pawned  as  soon  as  bought  with 
that  solemn  and  discreet  friend  of  youth,  the  Mont-de- 
Piete;  but  his  ingenuity  had  failed  to  discover  any 
device  whereby  to  pay  Madame  Vauquer,  or  to  buy 
the  tools  necessary  to  keep  up  his  life  of  elegance  and 
fashion.  Vulgar  present  necessity,  or  the  debts  con- 


Pere  G-oriat.  193 

tracted  for  past  pleasures,  gave  him  no  inspiration. 
Like  most  of  those  who  lead  this  life  of  chance,  he  put 
off  as  long  as  possible  paying  his  current  debts  (which 
are  the  most  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  plain  people),  after 
the  example  of  Mirabeau,  who  never  paid  his  baker's 
bill  till  it  took  the  compelling  form  of  a  promissory  note. 
At  this  special  time  —  the  last  of  January  —  Rastignac 
had  been  losing  heavily,  and  was  in  debt.  He  was 
beginning  to  see  that  he  could  not  continue  to  lead 
this  kind  of  life  without  fixed  resources.  But  sighing 
over  the  difficulties  of  his  precarious  position  did  not 
bring  him  to  resign  the  pleasures  of  the  great  world  ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  felt  incapable  of  the  sacrifice,  and 
resolute  to  push  on  at  any  price.  The  chances  on 
which  at  first  he  had  built  his  hopes  of  fortune  he 
now  saw  to  be  chimerical,  while  his  real  difficulties 
grew  greater  every  day.  As  he  became  familiar  with 
the  domestic  secrets  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen,  he  saw  that  to  convert  love  into  an  instrument 
of  fortune  it  was  necessary  to  drink  the  cup  of  shame 
to  the  very  dregs,  and  renounce  forever  all  those  noble 
ideas  which  are  the  absolution  of  youthful  errors.  To 
this  life,  outwardly  splendid,  inwardly  gnawed  by  the 
tcenias  of  remorse,  and  whose  fugitive  pleasures  were 
dearly  paid  for  by  persistent  anguish,  he  was  now 
wedded.  Like  La  Bruycre's  absent-minded  man,  he 
had  made  his  bed  in  the  slime  of  the  ditch ;  but,  like 
him  again,  he  had  as  yet  only  soiled  his  clothes. 

"  Well !  have  we  killed  the  mandarin  ?  "  said  Bian- 
chon  one  day  as  they  rose  from  table. 

"  Xot  yet,"  he  answered,  "  but  he  is  at  his  death- 
rattle." 

13 


194  Pere  Goriot. 

The  medical  student  took  this  for  a  joke,  but  he  was 
mistaken.  Eugene,  who  had  dined  that  day  at  the 
pension  after  a  long  absence,  seemed  thoughtful  and 
preoccupied.  Instead  of  leaving  after  the  dessert,  he 
remained  in  the  dining-room  sitting  near  Mademoiselle 
Taillefer,  on  whom  from  time  to  time  he  threw  reflect- 
ing glances.  Some  of  the  guests  still  lingered  at  table 
eating  nuts ;  others  were  walking  up  and  down  con- 
tinuing their  conversation.  They  left  the  room,  as  they 
did  every  evening,  each  as  he  pleased,  according  to  the 
interest  he  took  in  the  conversation  or  the  amount  of 
rest  required  by  his  digestion.  In  winter  the  dining- 
room  was  seldom  empty  before  eight  o'clock;  after 
which  hour  the  four  women  remained  alone  and  made 
up  for  the  silence  imposed  upon  them  by  the  masculine 
majority.  Struck  by  Eugene's  preoccupation,  Vautrin, 
who  at  first  had  seemed  in  a  hurry  to  get  away,  stayed 
after  the  others  had  departed,  and  placed  himself  cau- 
tiously just  within  the  door  of  the  salon,  so  that  Eugene 
could  not  see  him,  and  might  therefore  believe  him 
gone.  He  read  the  mind  of  the  student,  and  saw  that 
a  crisis  was  at  hand. 

Rastignac  was  in  fact  in  a  difficult  though  perhaps 
not  uncommon  position.  Whether  Madame  de  Nucin- 
gen  loved  him  or  was  trifling  with  him,  she  had  made 
him  pass  through  the  fluctuations  of  a  real  passion, 
and  had  used  against  him  all  the  resources  at  the 
command  of  Parisian  feminine  diplomacy.  Having 
compromised  herself  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  to  se- 
cure the  devotion  of  a  cousin  of  Madame  de  Beause- 
ant,  she  now  repelled  his  advances  and  would  go  no 
further.  For  a  month  she  had  coquetted  with  his 


Pere  Goriot.  195 

feelings,  and  had  ended  by  gaining  some  power  over 
his  heart.  If  in  the  first  hours  of  their  intimacy  the 
student  had  been  master  of  the  situation,  Madame  de 
Nucingen  was  now  the  stronger  of  the  two.  She  had 
contrived  by  skilful  management  to  excite  in  Rastignac 
the  varied  feelings,  good  and  bad,  of  the  two  or  three 
men  who  exist  in  a  young  Parisian.  Was  this  from 
calculation  ?  No,  women  are  always  true  even  in  the 
midst  of  their  utmost  falsity ;  they  are  true,  because 
they  are  influenced  by  native  feeling.  Perhaps  Del- 
phine,  alarmed  at  the  power  she  had  at  first  allowed 
Eugene  to  assume  over  her,  and  at  the  unguarded  con- 
fidence she  had  shown  him,  was  prompted  by  a  feeling 
of  dignity  to  assume  reserve.  She  may  have  hesitated 
before  her  fall,  and  have  sought  to  test  the  character 
of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  about  to  commit  her 
future,  having  already  had  good  reason  to  distrust  the 
faith  of  lovers.  Perhaps  she  had  noticed  in  Eugene's 
manner  —  for  his  rapid  success  had  greatly  increased 
his  self-conceit  —  a  certain  disrespect  caused  by  the 
singularities  of  their  situation.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
whatever  were  her  reasons,  Eugene  had  made  no  pro- 
gress with  her  since  the  first  days  of  their  intercourse. 
He  grew  irritable,  his  self-love  was  deeply  wounded  ; 
he  was  like  a  sportsman  jealous  for  the  honor  of  Saint- 
Hubert  if  a  partridge  is  not  killed  on  the  first  day  of 
the  sport.  His  angry  self-conceit,  his  futile  hopes, 
were  they  false  or  real,  and  his  daily  anxieties  bound 
him  more  and  more  to  this  woman.  Yet  sometimes 
when  he  found  himself  penniless  and  without  prospects, 
his  mind  turned,  in  defiance  of  his  conscience,  to  the 
chance  Vautrin  had  held  out  to  him  through  a  marriage 


196  Pere  Groriot. 

with  Mademoiselle  Taillefer.  There  were  days  when 
his  poverty  was  so  importunate  that  he  yielded  almost 
involuntarily  to  the  snare  of  the  terrible  sphinx  whose 
glance  dominated  him  with  a  dangerous  fascination. 

"When  Poiret  and  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  had 
gone  up  to  their  rooms,  Rastignac,  believing  himself 
alone  between  Madame  Vauquer  and  Madame  Couture, 
the  latter  of  whom  was  knitting  herself  a  pair  of  muf- 
fetees  and  dosing  by  the  stove,  turned  to  Mademoiselle 
Taillefer  with  a  glance  sufficiently  tender  to  make  her 
eyes  droop. 

"  Is  anything  troubling  you,  Monsieur  Eugene  ?  "  she 
said,  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  Who  is  without  trouble  ?  "  he  replied.  "  Yet  per- 
haps if  we  young  men  were  sure  of  being  truly  loved, 
with  a  devotion  that  would  compensate  us  for  the 
sacrifices  we  are  ready  to  make,  we  should  have  no 
troubles." 

Mademoiselle  Taillefer  for  all  answer  gave  him  a 
look  whose  meaning  was  unmistakable. 

"  Even  you,  Mademoiselle,  who  are  so  sure  of  your 
heart  to-day,  can  you  be  sure  that  you  will  never 
change  ?  " 

A  smile  played  about  the  lips  of  the  poor  girl ;  a  ray 
of  sunshine  from  her  heart  lighted  up  her  face  with  so 
bright  a  glow  that  Eugene  was  frightened  at  having 
called  forth  such  a  manifestation  of  feeling. 

u  What !  if  to-morrow  you  were  rich  and  happy,  if 
immense  wealth  came  to  you  from  the  skies,  would 
you  still  love  a  poor  young  man  who  had  pleased  you 
in  the  days  of  your  own  distress?" 

She  made  a  pretty  motion  of  her  head. 


Pere  Goriot.  197 

"  A  very  poor  unhappy  man  ?  " 

Another  sign. 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking  ?  "  cried  Madame 
Vauquer. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Eugene ;  "  we  understand  each 
other." 

"  Ah  !  an  understanding !  —  a  promise  of  marringe 
between  the  Chevalier  Eugene  de  Rastignac  and  Made- 
moiselle Victorine  Taillefer  !  "  said  Vautrin  in  his  bluff 
voice,  as  he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  dining-room. 

"  How  you  frightened  me ! "  cried  Madame  Vauquer 
and  Madame  Couture  together. 

"I  might  make  a  far  worse  choice,"  said  Eugene, 
laughing. 

The  voice  of  Vautrin  at  that  moment  caused  him 
the  most  painful  emotion  he  had  ever  yet  known. 

"  No  jests  on  that  subject,  if  you  please,  gentlemen," 
said  Madame  Couture.  "  My  dear,  let  us  go  upstairs." 

Madame  Vauquer  followed  the  two  ladies,  that  she 
might  economize  fire  and  lights  by  spending  the  even- 
ing in  their  room.  Eugene  found  himself  alone  and 
face  to  face  with  Vautrin. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  to  it,"  said  the  latter,  with 
his  imperturbable  sang-froid.  u  But,  stay  !  I  can  be 
delicate  and  considerate  as  well  as  others.  Don't  make 
up  your  mind  at  this  moment ;  you  are  not  altogether 
yourself ;  you  are  in  trouble,  in  debt.  I  don't  wish 
it  to  be  passion  or  despair  but  plain  common-sense 
which  brings  you  to  me.  Perhaps  you  want  a  few 
thousands  ?  Here,  will  you  have  them  ?  " 

The  tempter  took  a  purse  from  his  pocket  and  drew 
out  three  bank-notes  of  a  thousand  francs  each,  which 


198  Pere  Goriot. 

he  fluttered  before  the  eyes  of  the  student.  Eugene's 
situation  at  this  time  was  very  harassing.  He  owed 
the  Marquis  d'Adjuda  and  the  Comte  de  Trailles  a 
hundred  louis  lost  at  cards.  He  had  no  money  to  pay 
the  debt,  and  dared  not  go  that  evening  to  Madame  de 
Restaud's  where  he  was  expected.  It  was  one  of  those 
informal  parties  where  people  drink  tea  and  eat  little 
cakes,  but  lose  their  thousands  at  whist. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Eugene,  striving  to  hide  a  convul- 
sive shiver,  "  after  what  you  have  confided  to  me,  you 
ought  to  know  that  I  cannot  put  myself  under  obliga- 
tions to  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Vautrin,  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  have 
you  say  otherwise.  You  are  a  handsome  young  fellow, 
and  sensitive  ;  proud  as  a  lion  and  gentle  as  a  little 
girl.  You  would  be  a  fine  morsel  for  the  Devil :  I  like 
the  strain.  A  little  more  study  of  men  and  morals, 
and  you  will  see  the  world  in  its  true  light.  A  man 
of  your  stamp  generally  relieves  his  conscience  by 
playing  a  few  scenes  of  virtuous  indignation  and  self- 
sacrifice,  highly  applauded  by  the  fools  in  the  pit. 
In  a  few  days  you  will  be  one  of  us.  Ah  !  if  you  be- 
come my  pupil,  I  will  make  you  anything  you  please. 
You  could  not  form  a  wish  but  it  should  be  gratified, 
—  were  it  for  honor,  fortune,  or  the  love  of  women. 
All  civilization  should  be  turned  into  ambrosia  for 
you.  You  should  be  our  spoiled  child,  our  Benjamin  ; 
we  would  lay  down  our  lives  for  you  with  pleasure. 
Every  obstacle  in  your  path  should  be  swept  away ! 
If  you  are  still  scrupulous,  I  suppose  you  take  me  for 
a  scoundrel  ?  Let  me  tell  you  that  a  man  who  was 
quite  as  high-minded  as  you  can  pretend  to  be,  Mon- 


Pere  Q-oriot.  199 

sieur  de  Turenne,  had  his  little  arrangements  with 
the  brigands  of  his  day  without  thinking  himself  at 
all  compromised  by  it.  You  don't  want  to  be  under 
obligations  to  me,  hein  ?  That  need  not  hinder,"  he 
said  with  a  smile ;  "  take  the  notes,  and  write  across 
this,"  he  added,  pulling  out  a  stamped  paper,  "  Ac- 
cepted for  the  sum  of  three  thousand.  Jive  hundred 
francs,  payable  in  twelvemonths  ;  sign  it,  and  add  the 
date.  The  five  hundred  francs  interest  is  enough  to 
relieve  you  of  all  scruples.  You  may  call  me  a  Jew  if 
you  like,  and  consider  yourself  entirely  released  from 
gratitude.  I  have  no  objection  to  your  despising  me 
now,  for  I  am  certain  you  will  come  to  me  in  the  end. 
You  will  find  in  me  the  unfathomable  depths  and  the 
vast  concentrated  emotions  which  ninnies  call  vices; 
but  you  will  never  find  me  false  or  ungrateful.  I  'm 
not  a  pawn,  nor  a  knight  —  I  'm  a  castle,  a  tower 
of  strength,  my  boy  !  " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  Eugene.  tf  Were  you  created 
to  torment  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no;  I  am  a  kind  man,  willing  to  get  splashed 
that  you  may  be  kept  out  of  the  mud  for  the  rest  of 
your  life.  I  have  startled  you  a  little  with  the  chimes 
of  your  Social  Order,  and  by  letting  you  see,  perhaps 
too  soon,  how  the  peal  is  rung.  But  the  first  fright 
will  pass,  like  that  of  a  recruit  on  the  battlefield.  You 
will  get  accustomed  to  the  idea  of  men  as  well  as  of 
soldiers  dying  to  promote  the  good  of  others  who  have 
crowned  themselves  kings  and  emperors.  How  times 
have  changed !  Formerly  we  could  say  to  a  bravo, 
'  Here  are  a  hundred  crowns ;  go  kill  me  So-and-so,' 
and  eat  our  suppers  tranquilly  after  sending  a  man 


200  Pere  Goriot. 

to  the  shades  by  a  yes  or  a  no.  To-day  I  propose  to 
give  you  a  handsome  fortune  ;  and  yet  you  hesitate, 
when  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  nod  your  head,  —  a  thing 
which  cannot  compromise  you  in  any  way.  The  age 
is  rotten!" 

Eugene  signed  the  paper,  and  exchanged  it  for  the 
bank-notes. 

"  Come,  let  us  talk  sense,"  resumed  Vautrin.  "  I 
want  to  start  for  America  in  a  few  months  and  plant 
my  tobacco.  I  will  send  you  the  cigars  of  friendship. 
If  I  get  rich  I  will  help  you.  If  I  have  no  children 
(and  that  is  probable,  for  I  am  not  anxious  to  propa- 
gate myself),  I  will  leave  you  all  my  fortune.  Don't 
you  call  that  being  a  friend?  But  I  have  a  passion 
for  devoting  myself  to  others  —  I  have  sacrificed 
myself  before  now  in  my  life.  I  live  in  a  sphere 
above  that  of  other  men ;  I  look  on  actions  as  means 
to  ends,  and  I  make  straight  for  those  ends.  What  is 
the  life  of  a  man  to  me  ?  —  not  that ! "  he  added,  click- 
ing his  thumb-nail  against  a  tooth.  "  A  man  is  all, 
or  nothing.  Less  than  nothing  when  he  is  Poiret : 
one  may  crush  such  a  man  as  that  like  a  bed-bug, — 
he  is  flat  and  empty,  and  he  stinks.  But  a  man  gifted 
as  you  are  is  a  god ;  he  is  not  a  machine  in  human 
skin,  but  a  theatre  where  noble  sentiments  are  en- 
acted. I  live  in  sentiments  !  A  noble  sentiment, 
what  is  it?  —  the  whole  of  life  in  a  thought.  Look 
at  Pere  Goriot:  his  two  daughters  are  his  universe, — 
they  are  the  threads  of  fate  that  guide  him  through 
created  things.  I  say  again,  I  have  dug  deep  into  life, 
and  I  know  there  is  but  one  enduring  sentiment,  — 
man's  friendship  for  man.  Pierre  et  Jaffier  —  I  know 


Pere  Croriot.  201 

*  Venice  Preserved '  by  heart !  Have  you  seen  many 
men  virile  enough  when  a  comrade  said,  '  Come,  help 
me  bury  a  corpse ,'  to  follow  without  asking  a  question 
or  preaching  a  moral  ?  I  have  done  that !  But  you, 
you  are  superior  to  others ;  to  you  I  can  speak  out,  — — 
you  will  comprehend  me.  You  '11  not  paddle  long  in 
the  marsh  with  the  dwarfs  and  the  toads! — Well, 
it  is  settled :  you  will  marry  her.  Let  us  each  carry 
our  point.  Mine  is  steel,  and  will  never  yield  !  Hal 
ha!  —  " 

Vautrin  walked  away  without  listening  to  the  nega- 
tive reply  of  Rastignac.  He  seemed  to  know  the 
secret  of  those  feeble  efforts  at  resistance,  those  in- 
effectual struggles  with  which  men  try  to  cheat  them- 
selves, and  which  serve  to  excuse  their  evil  actions  to 
their  own  minds. 

"  Let  him  do  what  he  likes ;  I  will  never  marry 
Mademoiselle  Taillefer,"  said  Eugene. 

The  thought  of  a  compact  between  himself  and  a 
man  he  held  in  abhorrence,  yet  who  was  fast  assuming 
great  proportions  in  his  eyes  by  the  cynicism  of  his 
ideas  and  the  boldness  with  which  he  clinched  society, 
threw  Rastignac  into  an  inward  fever,  from  which, 
however,  he  rallied  in  time  to  dress  and  go  to  Madame 
de  Restaud's.  For  some  time  past  the  countess  had 
shown  him  much  attention,  as  a  young  man  whose 
every  step  led  him  more  and  more  into  the  heart  of 
the  great  world,  and  whose  influence  might  eventually 
become  formidable.  He  paid  his  debts  to  Messieurs 
d'Adjuda  and  de  Trailles,  played  whist  far  into  the 
night,  and  regained  all  he  had  lost.  Being  supersti- 
tious, as  most  men  are  whose  future  lies  before  them  to 


202  Pere  Goriot. 

make  or  mar,  and  who  are  all  more  or  less  fatalists,  he 
chose  to  see  the  favor  of  Heaven  in  his  run  of  luck,  —  a 
recompense  granted  for  his  persistence  in  the  path  of 
duty.  The  next  morning  he  hastened  to  ask  Vautrin 
for  the  note  of  hand,  and  repaid  the  three  thousand 
francs  with  very  natural  satisfaction. 

"  All  goes  well,"  said  Vautrin. 

"  But  I  am  not  your  accomplice,"  said  Eugene. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  replied  the  other,  interrupting 
him;  "you  are  still  hampered  with  some  childish  non- 
sense. Once  across  the  threshold,  and  you'll  be  all 
right." 

Two  days  later  Poiret  and  Mademoiselle  Michonneau 
were  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  sun,  in  a  quiet  alley  of 
the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  talking  with  the  gentleman  who 
had  rightly  enough  been  an  object  of  suspicion  to 
Bianchon. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  Monsieur  Gondureau,  "  I  can- 
not see  why  you  should  have  any  scruples.  His  Excel- 
lency Monseigneur  the  Minister  of  Police  of  this  king- 
dom,—" 

"Ah!  His  Excellency  Monseigneur  the  Minister  of 
Police  of  this  kingdom,"  repeated  Poiret. 

"Yes;  His  Excellency  is  personally  interested  in 
this  affair,"  said  Gondureau. 

It  seems  at  first  sight  improbable  that  Poiret,  an  old 
government  employe,  who  had  presumably  the  virtues 
of  the  bourgeois  class  though  destitute  of  brains,  should 
have  continued  to  listen  to  this  man  after  he  had  plainly 
acknowledged  himself  to  be  a  police  spy,  an  agent  of  the 
Rue  de  Jerusalem  disguised  as  an  honest  citizen.  Yet 


Pere  G-oriot.  203 

the  thing  was  really  natural  enough.  The  reader  will 
better  understand  the  place  that  Poiret  held  in  the 
great  family  of  fools  after  hearing  some  remarks  made 
not  long  since  by  certain  keen  observers  of  society,  but 
which  have  never  yet  appeared  in  print.  There  is  a 
nation  of  quill-drivers  placed  in  the  budget  between 
the  Arctic  zone  of  official  life  inhabited  by  clerks  who 
receive  twelve  hundred  francs  annually,  —  the  Green- 
land of  our  public  offices,  —  and  the  temperate  regions 
where  salaries  rise  from  three  to  six  thousand  francs, 
nay,  even  blossom  in  spite  of  the  difficulties  of  cultiva- 
tion. One  of  the  characteristic  traits  of  the  tribe  in- 
habiting the  middle  region  —  a  narrow,  down-trodden 
class  —  is  its  involuntary,  mechanical,  instinctive  respect 
for  that  Grand  Llama  of  office,  known  personally  to  the 
petty  employe  only  by  an  illegible  signature,  and  spoken 
of  with  reverence  as  His  Excellency  Monseigneur  the 
Minister;  five  words  equivalent  to  "//  JBondo  Cani" 
of  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad,  —  words  which  to  this  hum- 
ble class  represent  a  power  sacred  and  beyond  appeal. 
"What  the  Pope  is  among  Christians,  Monseigneur  is  to 
the  employe.  Regarded  as  infallible  in  his  adminis- 
trative capacity,  *h£  light  that  emanates  from  this 
luminary  is  reflected  in  his  acts  and  words,  and  in  all 
that  he  does  by  proxy.  It  covers  with  a  mantle  and 
legalizes  every  act  that  he  may  ordain.  His  very  title 
of  Excellency  seems  to  attest  the  purity  of  his  motives 
and  the  sanctity  of  his  intentions,  and  is  a  cloak  to 
ideas  that  would  not  otherwise  be  tolerated.  Things 
that  these  poor  officials  would  never  do  to  serve  them- 
selves, they  do  willingly  in  the  great  name  of  His  Ex- 
cellency. Public  offices  have  their  duty  of  passive 


204  Pere  Groriot. 

obedience  as  well  as  the  army  ;  they  are  controlled  by 
a  system  which  stifles  conscience,  annihilates  manliness, 
and  ends  by  making  the  human  being  a  mere  screw, 
or  nut,  in  the  government  machinery.  Thus  Monsieur 
Gondureau,  who  appeared  to  have  a  knowledge  of 
men,  soon  discovered  in  Poiret  the  bureaucratic  ninny, 
and  trotted  out  his  Deus  ex  machind,  the  talismariic 
words  u  His  Excellency,"  at  the  moment  when,  un- 
masking his  batteries,  it  was  desirable  to  dazzle  the  old 
fellow,  —  whom  he  regarded  as  a  male  Michonneau, 
just  as  the  Michonneau  appeared  to  him  a  female 
Poiret. 

"  Since  His  Excellency  himself,  His  Excellency  Mon- 
seigneur  —  ah  !  that  alters  the  case,"  said  Poiret. 

"You  hear  what  Monsieur  says, —  a  gentleman  in 
whose  judgment  you  appear  to  place  confidence,"  said 
the  pretended  bourgeois,  addressing  Mademoiselle  Mi- 
chonneau. "  Well,  His  Excellency  has  now  obtained 
the  most  complete  certainty  that  a  man  calling  himself 
Vautrin,  who  lives  in  the  Maison  Vauquer,  is  an  escaped 
format  [convict]  from  the  Torlon  galleys,  where  he  was 
known  by  the  name  of  Trompe-la-Mort  —  " 

"Ah!  Trompe-la-Mort, — one  who  cheats  Death!" 
interrupted  Poiret.  "  He  is  lucky  if  he  has  earned  his 
name.". 

"Yes,"  said  the  agent,  "  the  nickname  is  due  to  the 
luck  he  has  had  in  never  losing  his  life  in  any  of  the  ex- 
tremely audacious  enterprises  he  has  engaged  in.  The 
man  is  dangerous ;  he  has  qualities  that  make  him  very 
remarkable.  His  condemnation  itself  was  a  thing  that 
did  him  infinite  honor  among  his  comrades." 

«'  Is  he  a  man  of  honor  ?  "  asked  Poiret. 


Pere  Croriot.  205 

"  After  his  own  fashion,  —  yes.  He  consented  to 
plead  guilty  to  the  crime  of  another,  —  a  forgeiy,  com- 
mitted by  a  handsome  young  man  to  whom  he  was 
much  attached ;  an  Italian  and  a  gambler,  who  after- 
wards went  into  the  army,  where  he  has  conducted 
himself  with  perfect  propriety  ever  since." 

"  But  if  His  Excellency  the  Minister  of  Police  is 
certain  that  Monsieur  Vautrin  is  Trompe-la-Mort, 
what  does  he  want  of  me?"  asked  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau. 

"  Ah !  yes,"  echoed  Poiret ;  "  if  the  Minister  really, 
as  you  do  us  the  honor  to  say,  has  the  certainty  —  " 

"  Certainty  is  not  the  word.  The  fact  is  strongly 
suspected.  Allow  me  to  explain.  Jacques  Collin, 
alias  Trompe-la-Mort,  has  the  entire  confidence  of  the 
prisoners  of  the  three  Bagnes  [galleys].  They  have 
appointed  him  their  agent  and  banker.  He  makes 
money  by  taking  care  of  their  affairs,  —  an  office  which 
necessarily  requires  a  man  of  mark." 

"Ha!  ha!  do  you  see  the  pun,  Mademoiselle?" 
cried  Poiret.  u  Monsieur  calls  him  a  '  man  of  mark ' 
because  he  has  been  branded  !  " 

"  This  Vautrin,"  continued  the  agent,  "  receives  the 
money  of  the  convicts  at  the  galleys,  invests  it,  takes 
care  of  it,  and  holds  it  until  claimed  by  those  who  es- 
cape, or  by  their  families  if  disposed  of  by  will,  or  by 
their  mistresses  when  drawn  upon  for  their  benefit." 

"  Their  mistresses !  you  mean  their  wives  ? "  said 
Poiret. 

"No,  Monsieur,  the  convict  seldom  has  any  but  an 
illegitimate  wife.  We  call  them  concubines." 

"  What !  do  they  live  in  concubinage  ?  " 


206  PeVe  Goriot. 

"  That  follows  of  course." 

"  Well,"  said  Poiret,  "  these  are  horrors  that  Mon- 
signeur  if  he  hears  of  them  will  never  tolerate.  Since 
you  have  the  honor  of  communicating  with  His  Excel- 
lency, you,  who  seem  to  me  to  have  philanthropic  views, 
should  enlighten  him  on  the  bad  example  set  to  society 
by  the  immoral  conduct  of  these  men." 

"But,  Monsieur,  Government  does  not  send  them  to 
the  galleys  to  offer  a  model  of  all  the  virtues." 

"  True  enough ;  but  still,  Monsieur,  allow  —  " 

"  Let  Monsieur  go  on  with  what  he  was  saying,  my 
dear,"  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

"  You  can  understand,  Mademoiselle,"  resumed  Gon- 
dureau,  "  that  Government  might  be  very  glad  to  put 
its  hand  on  this  illicit  capital,  which  is  said  to  amount 
to  a  very  large  sum.  Trompe-la-Mort  has  a  great 
deal  of  property  in  his  possession  from  the  moneys 
turned  over  to  him  by  the  convicts;  and  also  from 
what  is  placed  in  his  hands  by  the  Society  of  the  Ten 
Thousand  —  " 

"Ten  thousand  thieves!  "  ejaculated  Poiret,  aghast. 

"No.  The  Society  of  the  Ten  Thousand  is  an  asso- 
ciation of  robbers  of  the  first  class ;  men  who  work  on 
a  large  scale,  and  engage  in  no  enterprise  unless  sure 
of  making  at  least  ten  thousand  francs  by  it.  This 
Society  is  made  up  of  the  most  distinguished  men 
among  those  who  go  through  the  criminal  courts.  They 
know  the  law,  and  never  risk  their  lives  by  doing  any- 
thing that  could  condemn  them  to  the  guillotine. 
Collin  is  their  trusted  agent,  their  counsellor.  By  the 
aid  of  his  immense  resources  he  has  managed  to  get 
up  a  force  of  private  detectives,  and  has  connections 


Pere  Q-oriot.  207 

widely  extended  which  he  wraps  in  a  mystery  really 
impenetrable.  For  a  year  we  have  surrounded  him 
with  spies,  but  we  have  not  yet  been  able  to  fathom 
his  game.  His  money  and  his  ability  are  meantime 
promoting  vice,  making  a  capital  for  crime,  and  sup- 
porting a  perfect  army  of  bad  men  who  are  perpetually 
making  war  upon  society.  To  arrest  Trompe-la-Mort 
and  seize  his  funds  would  pull  the  evil  up  by  the  roots. 
The  matter  has  thus  become  an  affair  of  State  and 
of  public  policy,  capable  of  doing  honor  to  all  who 
engage  in  it.  You,  Monsieur,  might  perhaps  be  re- 
employed  by  the  Government,  —  as  secretary,  possibly, 
of  a  police  commissioner,  which  would  not  hinder  you 
from  drawing  your  pension  as  a  retired  functionary." 

"  But,"  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  "  why  does 
not  Trompe-la-Mort  run  off  with  the  money?" 

"  Oh ! "  said  Gondureau,  "  wherever  he  went  he 
would  be"  followed  by  a  man  with  orders  to  kill  him  if 
he  stole  from  the  Bagne.  Money  cannot  be  carried  off 
as  quietly  as  a  man  can  run  away  with  a  pretty  girl. 
Moreover,  Collin  is  a  fellow  incapable  of  such  an  act. 
He  would  feel  himself  dishonored." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Poiret,  "  you  are  right ;  he  would 
be  altogether  dishonored." 

"  All  this  does  not  explain  why  you  do  not  simply 
arrest  him  at  once,"  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

"Well,  Mademoiselle,  I  will  tell  you.  But,"  he 
whispered  in  her  ear,  "  keep  your  gentleman  from 
interrupting  me,  or  we  shall  never  have  done.  He 
ought  to  be  very  rich  to  get  any  one  to  sit  and  listen 
to  him.  —  Trompe-la-Mort  when  lie  came  here  put  on 
the  skin  of  an  honest  man.  He  gave  himself  out  as  a 


208  PeVe  Goriot. 

plain  citizen,  and  took  lodgings  in  a  commonplace  pen- 
sion. Oh  !  he  is  very  cunning,  I  can  tell  you.  He  is 
not  a  fish  to  be  caught  without  a  worm  !  So  Monsieur 
Vautrin  is  a  man  of  consideration,  who  carries  on  im- 
portant business  of  some  kind." 

"  Naturally,"  said  Poiret  to  himself. 

"  The  minister,  if  any  mistake  should  be  made,  and 
if  we  were  to  arrest  a  real  Vautrin,  would  bring  down 
upon  himself  all  the  tradespeople  of  Paris,  and  have  to 
face  public  opinion.  Monsieur  the  prefect  of  police 
is  not  very  sure  of  his  place ;  he  has  enemies ;  and  if 
we  were  to  make  a  mistake,  those  who  want  to  step 
into  his  shoes  would  profit  by  the  yelpings  and  out- 
cries of  the  liberals  to  get  rid  of  him.  We  must  act 
now  as  we  did  in  that  affair  of  Coignard,  the  false 
Comte  de  Sainte-Helene  ;  if  he  had  been  the  real  count 
we  should  have  been  in  the  wrong  box.  So  we  are 
careful  to  verify," 

"  Yes,  but  for  that  you  want  a  pretty  woman,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  quickly. 

"  Trompe-la-Mort  will  never  put  himself  in  the  power 
of  any  woman,"  said  the  detective.  "  He  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them." 

"  Then  I  don't  see  how  I  could  help  you  to  the  veri- 
fication, even  supposing  I  were  willing  to  undertake  it 
for  two  thousand  francs." 

"Nothing  easier.  I  will  give  you  a  phial  containing 
one  dose  of  liquid  which  will  produce  a  rush  of  blood 
to  the  head,  —  not  in  the  least  dangerous,  but  with  all 
the  symptoms  of  apoplexy.  The  drug  may  be  put 
either  into  his  wine  or  his  coffee.  As  soon  as  it  has 
had  its  effect,  carry  your  man  to  his  bed,  undress  him, 


Pere  Goriot.  209 

—  to  see  if  he  is  dying,  or  any  other  pretext,  —  con- 
trive to  be  alone  with  him,  and  give  him  a  smart  slap 
on  the  shoulder,  paf !  and  you  will  see  the  letters  re- 
appear." 

"That's  not  much  to  do,"  said  Poiret. 

"  Well,  do  you  agree  ? "  said  Gondureau  to  the  old 
maid. 

"But,  my  dear  Monsieur,"  said  Mademoiselle  Mi- 
chonneau,  "  suppose  there  are  no  lettei-s.  Shall  I  have 
the  two  thousand  francs  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  What  will  you  pay  me  in  that  case?" 

"  Five  hundred  francs." 

"  It  is  very  little  for  doing  such  a  thing  as  that. 
Either  way  it  is  equally  hard  upon  my  conscience.  I 
have  my  conscience  to  quiet,  Monsieur." 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Poiret,  "  that  Mademoiselle 
has  a  great  deal  of  conscience;  and,  besides,  she  is  a 
most  amiable  person  and  well  informed." 

"  Well,"  said  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  "  give  me 
three  thousand  francs  if  it  is  Trompe-la-Mort,  and 
nothing  at  all  if  he  proves  to  be  an  honest  man." 

"  Done  !  "  said  Gondureau,  "  but  on  condition  that 
you  do  it  to-morrow." 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  dear  Monsieur.  I  must  consult 
my  confessor." 

"  You  are  a  sly  one ! "  said  the  detective  rising. 
"  Well,  I  '11  see  you  to-morrow  then  ;  and  if  you  want 
me  before  then,  come  to  the  Petite  Rue  Sainte-Anne, 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  Court  of  the  Sainte-Chapelle. 
There  is  only  one  door  under  the  arch.  Ask  for 
Monsieur  Gondureau." 

14 


210  P£re  Goriot. 

Bianchon,  who  was  coming  from  the  Coursde  Cuvier, 
caught  the  singular  name  of  Trompe-la-Mort,  and  heard 
the  "  Done ! "  of  the  celebrated  chief  of  the  detective 
police. 

"  Why  did  not  you  settle  it  at  once  ?  "  said  Poiret 
to  Mademoiselle  Michonneau.  "  It  would  give  you 
three  hundred  francs  annuity." 

"  Why  ?"  said  she.  "  Well,  because  I  want  to  think 
it  over.  If  Monsieur  Vautrin  is  really  Trompe-la-Mort 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  make  a  bargain  with  him. 
Still,  if  I  broached  the  subject  I  should  give  him  warn- 
ing, and  he  is  just  the  man  to  decamp  gratis.  It  would 
be  an  abominable  cheat." 

"  Even  if  he  did  get  away,"  said  Poiret,  "  Monsieur 
told  us  he  was  watched  by  the  police.  But  you,  —  you 
will  lose  everything." 

"There  is  this  to  be  said,"  thought  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau,  "I  don't  like  him.  He  is  always  saying 
disagreeable  things  to  me." 

"  Besides,"  said  Poiret,  returning  to  the  charge, 
"  you  will  be  acting  for  the  Government.  According 
to  what  that  gentleman  told  us  (he  seemed  to  me  a 
very  nice  man,  and  very  well  dressed  too),  it  is  an  act 
of  obedience  to  the  laws  ;  it  rids  the  world  of  a  crimi- 
nal, however  virtuous  he  may  be.  He  who  has  drunk 
will  drink.  Suppose  he  took  a  fancy  to  murder  us  in 
our  beds — devil  take  me  ! — we  should  be  guilty  of  his 
homicides ;  and  be  ourselves  the  first  victims." 

The  preoccupation  of  Mademoiselle  Michonneau 
prevented  her  from  giving  ear  to  these  sentences, 
which  dropped  one  by  one  from  the  lips  of  Poiret 
like  water  trickling  through  a  spigot  carelessly  closed. 


Pere  G-oriot.  211 

When  once  the  old  rann  was  set  going,  and  Mademoi- 
selle Michonneau  did  not  stop  him,  he  ticked  on  like 
a  mechanism  wound  up  to  go  till  it  runs  down.  Hav- 
ing broached  a  subject,  he  was  usually  led  by  his  par- 
entheses through  a  variety  of  irrelevant  topics  without 
ever  coming  to  a  conclusion.  By  the  time  they  reached 
the  Maison  Vauquer  he  had  maundered  through  a 
quantity  of  examples  and  quotations  which  led  him 
finally  to  relate  his  own  deposition  in  the  affair  of  the 
Sieur  Ragoulleau  and  the  Dame  Morin,  in  which  he  had 
figured  as  a  witness  for  the  defence.  On  entering  the 
house  his  companion  observed  that  Eugene  de  Ras- 
tignac  was  engaged  in  close  conversation  with  Ma- 
demoiselle Taillefer,  and  that  their  interest  in  each 
other  was  so  absorbing  that  they  paid  no  heed  to  the 
pair  who  passed  them  in  crossing  the  dining-room. 

"  I  knew  it  would  come  to  that,"  said  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau  to  Poiret,  "  they  have  been  making  eyes 
at  each  other  for  the  last  week." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied, "  but  after  all,  she  was  pronounced 
guilty." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"Madame  Morin." 

"I  was  talking  of  Mademoiselle  Victorine,"  said 
Michonneau,  following  Poiret  into  his  chamber  without 
noticing  where  she  was  going,  "  and  you  answer  me 
by  Madame  Morin.  Who  is  that  woman  ?  " 

"  What  has  Mademoiselle  Victorine  been  guilty  of?  " 
asked  Poiret. 

"  She  is  guilty  of  being  in  love  with  Monsieur 
Eugene  de  Rastignac,  and  running  headlong  without 
knowing  what  she  is  coming  to,  poor  innocent !  " 


212  Pere  Q-oriot. 


XIII. 

EUGENE  had  that  morning  been  driven  to  despair  by 
Madame  de  Nucingen.  In  his  inmost  soul  he  now 
yielded  himself  up  to  Vautrin,  not  choosing  to  fathom 
either  the  motives  of  that  strange  man  in  befriending 
him,  or  the  future  of  the  alliance  that  would  be  riveted 
between  them.  Nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  him 
now  from  the  abyss,  on  the  verge  of  which  he  stood  as 
he  exchanged  with  Mademoiselle  Taillefer  the  sweetest 
of  all  promises.  Victorine  listened  as  to  the  voice  of 
angels  ;  the  heavens  opened  for  her,  the  Maison  Vau- 
qtier  shone  with  tints  that  artists  lavish  upon  palaces  ; 
she  loved,  and  she  was  loved,  —  alas,  she  thought  she 
was!  And  what  young  girl  would  not  have  thought 
so,  as  she  looked  at  Rastignac  and  listened  to  him  for 
that  one  sweet  hour  stolen  from  the  argus  eyes  that 
watched  her  !  While  he  fought  his  conscience,  know- 
ing that  he  was  doing  evil  and  choosing  to  do  evil, 
saying  to  himself  that  he  would  atone  for  this  sin 
by  giving  lifelong  happiness  to  his  wife,  the  fires  of 
the  hell  within  him  burned  from  the  inner  to  the 
outer,  and'  the  anguish  of  his  soul  heightened  the 
beauty  of  his  face.  Mercifully  for  him  the  miracle 
took  place. 

Vautrin  entered  gaily,  reading  at  a  glance  the  souls 
of  the  young  pair  whom  he  had  married  by  the  machi- 


Pere  Goriot.  213 

nations  of  his  infernal  genius,  and  whose  joy  he  killed 
as  he  trolled  forth  in  his  strong  mocking  voice,  — 

"  My  Fanny  is  charming 
In  her  simplicity." 

Victorine  fled  away,  carrying  with  her  more  of  joy 
than  she  had  yet  known  of  sorrow.  Poor  child ,  a  pres- 
sure of  the  hands,  the  sweep  of  her  lovers'  curls  upon 
her  cheek,  a  word  whispered  in  her  ear  so  close  that  she 
felt  the  warm  touch  of  his  lips,  an  arm  folded  trembling 
about  her,  a  kiss  taken  from  her  white  throat,  —  these 
were  the  troth-plights  of  her  passion,  which  the  near 
presence  of  Sylvie,  threatening  to  enter  that  radiant 
dining-room,  only  rendered  more  ardent,  more  real, 
more  tender  than  the  noblest  pledges  of  devotion  re- 
lated in  the  love-tales  of  the  knights  of  old.  These 
menus  suffrages,  —  to  borrow  the  pretty  expression 
of  our  ancestors  —  seemed  almost  crimes  to  the  pure 
heart  that  confessed  itself  weekly.  In  this  shoi't  hour 
she  had  lavished  treasures  of  her  soul  more  precious 
far  than  hereafter,  rich  and  happy,  she  could  bestow 
with,  the  gift  of  her  whole  being. 

"  The  affair  is  arranged,"  said  Vautrin  to  Eugene. 
"  All  passed  very  properly.  Difference  of  opinion. 
Our  pigeon  insulted  my  falcon.  It  is  for  to-morrow,  — 
in  the  redoubt  at  Clignancourt.  By  half-past  eight 
o'clock  Mademoiselle  Taillefer  will  be  heiress  of  all 
the  love  and  all  the  money  of  her  father,  while  she 
is  quietly  dipping  her  bits  of  toast  into  her  coffee! 
Droll,  isn't  it?  It  seems  young  Taillefer  is  a  good 
swordsman,  and  he  feels  as  sure  of  having  the  best  of 
it  as  if  he  held  all  the  trumps  in  his  hand.  But  he  '11 


214  Pere  Goriot. 

be  bled  by  a  trick  of  mine;  a  pass  I  invented, —  rais- 
ing the  sword  and  giving  a  quick  thrust  through  the 
forehead.  I'll  show  it  to  you  some  day,  for  it  is 
immensely  useful." 

Rastignac  looked  at  him  and  listened  in  a  stupid 
manner,  but  said  nothing.  At  this  moment  Pere 
Goriot  came  in  with  Bianchon  and  some  of  the  other 
guests. 

"  You  are  taking  it  just  as  I  hoped,"  said  Vautrin. 
"  You  know  what  you  are  about.  All  right,  my  young 
eaglet,  —  you  will  govern  men.  You  are  strong,  firm, 
virile.  I  respect  you." 

He  offered  his  hand,  but  Rastignac  drew  back 
quickly  and  dropped  into  a  chair,  turning  very  pale  ;  a 
sea  of  blood  rolled  at  his  feet. 

"  Well,  well !  we  still  have  a  rag  of  our  swaddling- 
clothes  spotted  with  virtue,"  said  Vautrin  in  a  whis- 
per. "The  papa  has  three  millions.  I  know  his 
fortune.  The  dot  will  make  you  white  as  the  bridal 
gown,  —  in  your  own  eyes,  too ;  never  fear." 

Rastignac  hesitated  no  longer.  He  determined  to 
go  that  evening  and  warn  the  Taillefers,  father  and 
son.  At  this  moment,  Vautrin  having  left  him,  Pere 
Goriot  said  in  his  ear,  — 

"  You  seem  out  of  spirits,  my  dear  boy  ;  but  I  can 
make  you  merry.  Come  !  " 

The  old  man  lit  his  rush-light  at  one  of  the  lamps, 
and  went  upstairs.  Eugene  followed  him  in  silence. 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  room,"  he  said.  "  You  thought 
this  morning  that  she  did  not  care  for  you,  heinf  She 
sent  you  away  peremptorily  ;  and  you  went  off  angry. 
Oh,  you  simpleton !  She  was  expecting  me.  We 


P$re  G-oriot.  215 

were  going  together, —  yes,  together, — to  arrange  a 
little  jewel  of  an  appartement  where  you  are  to  live 
three  days  from  now.  Don't  tell  her  that  I  told  you. 
It  was  to  be  a  surprise ;  but  I  can  't  keep  the  secret 
any  longer.  It  is  in  the  Rue  d'Artois,  two  steps 
from  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare.  You  will  be  lodged  like 
a  prince.  We  have  been  getting  furniture  fit  for  a 
bride.  We  have  been  very  busy  together  for  the  last 
month,  but"  I  would  not  tell  you  anything  about  it. 
My  lawyer  has  taken  the  field.  Delphine  will  have 
her  thirty  thousand  francs  a  year,  the  interest  of  her 
dot;  and  I  shall  insist  on  her  eight  hundred  thousand 
francs  being  invested  in  good  securities,  —  securities 
in  open  day-light,  you  know." 

Eugene  was  silent.  lie  walked  up  and  down  the 
miserable,  untidy  room  with  folded  arms.  Pere  Goriot 
seized  a  moment  when  his  back  was  turned  to  put  upon 
the  chimney-piece  a  red  morocco  case,  on  which  the 
arms  of  Rastignac  were  stamped  in  gojd. 

"My  dear  boy!"  said  the  poor  old  man,  "I  have 
gone  into  this  thing  up  to  my  chin.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  there  is  some  selfishness  in  it.  I  have  my  own 
interests  to  serve  in  your  change  of  quarters.  I  have 
something  to  ask  of  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  There  is  a  little  room  attached  to  the  appartement 
that  will  just  suit  me.  I  shall  live  there,  shall  I  not? 
I  am  getting  old  —  I  live  so  far  from  my  daughters. 
I  shall  not  be  in  your  way ;  but  you  will  come  and  tell 
me  about  them  constantly,  —  every  evening?  That 
will  not  trouble  you,  will  it  ?  When  you  come  in,  and 
I  am  in  my  bed,  I  shall  hear  you,  and  say  to  myself, 


216  Pere  Goriot. 

'  He  has  seen  my  little  Delphine  ;  he  has  taken  her  to 
a  ball ;  she  is  happy  with  him.'  If  I  were  ill,  it  would 
be  balm  to  my  heart  to  hear  you  go  out  and  come  in. 
It  would  bring  me  nearer  to  my  daughters :  you  belong 
to  their  world,  but  you  are  my  friend.  It  will  be  but 
a  step  to  the  Champs  Elysees,  where  they  drive  every 
afternoon  ;  I  could  see  them  daily,  whereas  now  I 
often  get  there  too  late.  Sometimes  my  little  Del- 
phine would  come  there,  and  then  I  should  see  her, 
in  her  pretty  wadded  pelisse,  trotting  about  as  daintily 
as  a  little  cat.  She  has  been  so  bright  and  merry  for 
a  month  past,  —  just  what  she  was  as  a  girl  at  home, 
with  me.  She  said  to  me  just  now  as  we  walked 
together,  *  Papa,  I  am  so  happy ! '  When  they  say 
ceremoniously, '  My  father,'  they  freeze  me ;  but  when 
they  call  me  'Papa,'  I  seem  to  see  my  little  ones  again ; 
the  past  comes  back  to  me ;  they  are  mine  once 
more." 

The  old  man  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  "  I  had 
not  heard  her  say  'Papa'  for  so  long!  She  had  not 
taken  my  arm  for  years':  yes !  it  is  ten  years  since  I 
have  walked  beside  either  of  my  daughters.  Oh  !  it 
was  good  to  hear  the  flutter  of  her  dress,  to  keep  step 
with  her,  to  feel  her  so  warm  and  soft  beside  me ! 
This  morning  I  went  everywhere  with  Delphine  ;  she 
took  me  into  the  shops ;  I  escorted  her  home.  Ah  ! 
you  and  I  will  live  together.  If  you  have  any  want 
I  shall  know  it,  —  I  shall  be  at  hand.  If  that  rough 
log  of  an  Alsatian  would  only  die !  if  his  gout  would  fly 
to  his  stomach !  then  you  could  make  my  poor  girl  a 
happy  woman.  She  may  have  done  wrong,  but  she 
has  been  so  wretched  in  her  marriage  that  I  excuse 


Pere   Goriot.  217 

all.  Surely  the  Father  in  Heaven  is  not  less  kind  than 
an  earthly  father !  —  She  was  praising  you  to  me,"  he 
went  on  after  a  pause.  "  She  talked  of  you  as  we 
walked  :  '  Is  he  not  handsome,  Papa  ?  Is  he  not  kind 
and  good  ?  Does  he  ever  speak  of  me  ? '  From  the 
Rue  d'Artois  to  the  Passage  des  Panoramas  she  talked 
of  you.  All  this  happy  morning  I  was  no  longer  old, 

—  I  was  light  as  a  feather.     I  told  her  how  you  gave 
me  the  thousand-franc  note.     Oh !   the   darling !   she 
shed  tears —    Why!  what  is  that  you  have  on  your 
chimney-piece  ? "    he   said,   impatient  at   Rastignac's 
immobility. 

Eugene,  stunned  and  silent,  looked  at  his  neighbor 
with  a  bewildered  air.  The  duel,  with  all  its  conse- 
quences, announced  by  Vautrin  for  the  morrow,  pre- 
sented such  a  frightful  contrast  to  this  fulfilment  of 
his  pleasant  dreams  that  his  mind  struggled  as  it  were 
with  a  nightmare.  He  turned  to  the  fireplace  and 
saw  the  little  case,  opened  it,  and  found  inside  a  scrap 
of  paper,  beneath  which  lay  a  Breguet  watch.  On  the 
paper  were  written  these  words:  — 

"  I  wish  you  to  think  of  me  every  hour,  because  — 

"  DELPHIXE." 

The  last  word  no  doubt  alluded  to  something  that 
had  passed  between  them.  Eugene  was  much  affected. 
His  arms  were  inlaid  in  gold  inside  the  case.  This  bijou, 

—  a  pretty  thing  he  had  long  coveted,  —  the   chain, 
the  key,  the  case,  the  chasing,  were  all  exactly  what 
he  liked.     Pore  Goriot  was  delighted.     He  had  doubt- 
less promised  to  carry  to  his  daughter  an  account  of 
how  Eugene  received  her  unexpected  gift ;  for  he  was 


218  Pere  Goriot. 

a  third  in  their  youthful  pleasures,  and  not  the  least 
happy  of  the  three. 

"You  will  go  and  see  her  this  evening?"  he  said. 
"  She  expects  you.  That  log  of  an  Alsatian  sups  with 
his  danseuse.  You  will  take  me  with  you,  will  you 
not?" 

"  Yes,  my  good  Pere  Goriot.  You  know  that  I  love 
you  —  " 

"  Ah !  you  are  not  ashamed  of  me,  —  not  you !  Let 
me  kiss  you ; "  and  he  strained  the  student  in  his  arms. 
"  To-night !  —  we  will  go  and  see  her  to-night." 

"  Yes ;  but  first  I  must  go  out  on  business  which  it 
is  impossible  to  postpone." 

«  Can  I  help  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  you  can.  While  I  go  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen's,  you  might  go  to  the  house  of  Monsieur 
Taillefer,  the  father,  and  beg  him  to  give  me  an  hour 
this  evening,  to  speak  to  him  on  a  subject  of  the 
utmost  importance." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  young  man,"  cried  Pere  Goriot, 
whose  whole  aspect  changed,  —  "  can  it  be  true  that 
you  are  paying  court  to  his  daughter,  as  those  fools  say 
downstairs?  Heavens  and  earth!  You  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  get  a  tap  from  Goriot.  If  you  are  playing 
false,  one  blow  of  my  fist  —  But  it  is  not  possible  !  " 

"  I  swear  to  you,  I  love  but  one  woman  in  the 
world,"  cried  the  student ;  "  and  I  did  not  know  it  till 
'a  moment  ago.  But  young  Taillefer  is  to  fight  a  duel, 
and  he  is  certain  to  be  killed." 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?  "  asked  Goriot. 

"  I  must  tell  the  father  to  save  his  son ! "  cried 
Eugene. 


Pere  Goriot.  219 

His  words  were  interrupted  by  the  voice  of  Vnutrin 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  his  chamber,  singing,  — 

"  '  O  Kichard,  6  mon  roi ! 
L'univers  t'  abandonne  — ' 

"  Broum !  broum !  broum !  broum  !  broum ! 

"  '  Long  have  I  wandered  here  and  there, 
And  wherever  by  chance  — 
Tra,  la,  la,  la,  la  — '" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Christophe,  "  the  soup  is  waiting ; 
everybody  is  at  table." 

"  Here,  Christophe,"  said  Vautrin.  "  Come  in  and 
get  a  bottle  of  my  claret." 

"Is  the  watch  pretty?"  whispered  Pore  Goriot. 
"Is  it  in  good  taste, — hein?" 

Vautrin,  Pere  Goriot,  and  Rastignac  went  down  to 
dinner,  and  by  reason  of  their  being  late  were  placed  to- 
gether at  the  table.  Eugene  showed  marked  coldness 
to  Vautrin,  though  the  man  had  nevjer  displayed  greater 
gifts  of  intellect;  he  sparkled  with,  wit,  and  even  roused 
something  of  it  in  the  other  guests.  His  sang  froid 
and  assurance  struck  Eugene  with  consternation. 

"  What  herb  have  you  trodden  on  to-day  ?  "  said  Ma- 
dame Vauquer  to  Vautrin  ;  "  you  are  as  gay  as  a  lark." 

"I  am  always  gay  when  I  have  done  a  good  stroke 
of  business." 

"  Business  ! "  said  Eugene. 

"  Well,  yes.  I  have  delivered  over  some  goods  to- 
day which  will  bring  me  in  a  handsome  commission. 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,"  he  continued,  perceiving 
that  the  old  maid  was  looking  at  him  attentively,  "  is 
there  anything  in  my  face  which  is  not  agreeable  to 


220  Pere  Goriot. 

you,  that  you  stai-e  at  me  like  an  American  ?  If  so, 
pray  mention  it,  and  it  shall  be  changed  to  please  you. 
Ha !  Poiret,  we  won't  quarrel  about  that,  will  we  ? " 
he  added,  winking  at  the  employe". 

"  Sac-a-papier !  You  ought  to  sit  for  the  Joking 
Hercules,"  said  the  young  painter  to  Vautrin. 

"  Faith  !  I  'm  willing,  if  Mile.  Michonneau  will  pose 
as  the  Venus  of  Pere-la-Chaise,"  replied  Vautrin. 

"And  Poiret?"  said  Bianchon. 

"Oh,  Poiret  shall  sit  —  as  Poiret,  god  of  gardens  !" 
cried  Vautrin.  "  He  derives  from/xnVe  [pear]." 

"  All  that  is  nonsense,"  said  Madame  Vauquer. 
"  You  had  better  give  us  some  of  your  claret,  Monsieur 
Vautrin  ;  I  see  the  neck  of  a  bottle.  It  will  keep  up 
our  spirits,  and  it  is  good  for  the  stomach." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Vautrin,  "  Madame  la  presidente 
calls  us  to  order.  Madame  Couture  and  Mademoiselle 
Victorine  have  not  yet  declared  themselves  shocked 
by  your  jocular  discourse,  but  please  respect  the  inno- 
cence of  Pere  Goriot.  I  propose  to  offer  you  a  little 
bottleorama  of  claret,  which  the  name  of  Lafitte  ren- 
ders doubly  illustrious  :  this  remark,  you  will  under- 
stand, bears  no  allusion  to  politics.  Come  on,  China- 
man !  "  he  added,  looking  at  Christophe,  who  did  not 
stir.  "  Here,  Christophe !  don't  you  know  your  name  ? 
Chinese  !  bring  forth  the  liquid  ! " 

"  Here  it  is,  Monsieur,"  said  Christophe,  giving  him 
the  bottle. 

After  filling  Eugene's  glass  and  that  of  Pere  Goriot, 
he  poured  out  a  few  drops  for  himself  and  tasted  them 
slowly,  while  the  other  two  drank  theirs  off.  Suddenly 
he  made  a  grimace. 


Pere  G-oriot.  221 

"  The  devil !  "  he  cried ;  "  this  wine  is  corked. 
Here,  Christophe,  you  may  have  the  rest  of  it;  and 
go  and  get  some  more.  You  know  where  it  is,  —  right 
hand  side.  Stay !  we  are  sixteen ;  bring  down  eight 
bottles."  " 

"  Regardless  of  cost,"  said  the  painter.  "  I  '11  pay 
for  a  hundred  chestnuts." 

«Ah!  ah!" 

«Bra-vo!    Oh!" 

"Hur-rah!  —  rah!" 

Every  one  uttered  an  exclamation,  popping,  as  usual, 
like  fireworks. 

"  Come,  Madame  Vauquer,  give  us  two  bottles  of 
champagne,"  cried  Vautrin. 

"  Listen  to  that !  You  might  as  well  ask  for  the 
house  itself !  Two  bottles  of  champagne !  Why, 
they  cost  twelve  francs !  I  don't  make  that  in  a 
week.  But  if  Monsieur  Eugene  will  pay  for  the  cham- 
pagne, I  '11  give  some  currant  wine." 

«  Pah !  That  stuff  of  hers  is  as  bad  as  a  black  dose," 
said  the  medical  student  in  a  whisper. 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  Bianchon  ! "  said  Ras- 
tignac ;  "  the  very  name  of  a  black  dose  makes  me  sick 
at  —  Yes,  bring  on  your  champagne  !  I  '11  pay  for 
it,"  he  added. 

"  Sylvie,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  "  give  us  the  bis- 
cuits and  some  little  cakes." 

"  Your  little  cakes  are  too  old,"  said  Vautrin  ;  "  they 
have  grown  a  beard.  As  for  the  biscuits,  produce 
them ! " 

In  a  few  moments  the  claret  circulated,  the  company 
grew  lively,  the  gayety  redoubled.  Above  the  din  of 


222  Pere  Goriot. 

laughter  rose  a  variety  of  cat-calls  and  imitations  of 
the  noises  of  animals.  The  employe  of  the  museum 
reproduced  a  street-cry  popularly  supposed  at  that 
time  to  resemble  the  amorous  miaulings  of  the  roof- 
cats  ;  whereupon  eight  voices  joined  chorus  in  well- 
known  Paris  cries  :  — 

"  Knives  to  grind  —  grind  !" 

"  Chick — weed  for  your  little  birds  ! n 

"  Plaisir!  ladies — Plaisir!  taste  my  sweet Plaisir!" 

"  China  !     China  to  mend !  " 

"  To  the  barge !     To  the  barge  !  " 

u  Beat  your  wives  —  your  coats  !    Beat  your  coats ! " 

"  Old  clo'es,  gold  lace,  old  hats  to  sell ! " 

"  Cherries !  cherries !  ripe  cherries !  " 

But  the  palm  fell  to  Bianchon,  as  he  miauled  through 
his  nose,  "  Umbrellas !  —  Umbrellas  to  mend  !  " 

The  racket  was  ear-splitting,  the  talk  sheer  nonsense, 
a  veritable  medley,  which  Vautrin  conducted  like  the 
leader  of  an  orchestra,  keeping  an  eye  meanwhile  on 
Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot,  who  both  had  the  appearance 
of  being  drunk  already.  Leaning  back  in  their  chairs, 
they  gazed  stolidly  at  the  extraordinary  scene  around 
them,  and  drank  little.  Both  were  thinking  of  what 
they  had  to  do  that  evening,  but  neither  felt  able  to 
rise  from  his  chair.  Vautrin,  who  watched  every 
change  in  their  faces  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
seized  the  moment  when  their  heads  were  beginning 
to  droop,  to  lean  over  Rastignac,  and  whisper  in  his 
ear, — 

"  My  lad,  we  are  not  clever  enough  to  get  the  better 
of  Papa  Vautrin.  He  loves  you  a  great  deal  too  well 
to  let  you  commit  a  folly.  When  I  have  made  up  my 


Pere  Goriot.  223 

mind,  nothing  but  the  hand  of  Providence  can  stop 
me.  Ha  !  ha !  my  little  school-boy  ;  we  thought  we 
would  go  and  tell  Father  Taillefer,  did  we  ?  Bah  !  the 
oven  is  hot,  the  dough  is  light,  the  bread  is  in  the  pan, 
—  to-morrow  we  will  eat  it  and  brush  off  the  crumbs. 
So  you  thought  you  could  keep  it  out  of  the  oven ! 
No!  no!  it  is  bound  to  bake.  If  any  little  bits  of 
remorse  stick  in  our  gullet,  they  will  pass  off  with  the 
digestion.  While  we  are  sleeping  our  sound  little 
sleep,  Colonel  Count  Franchessini  will  open  us  a  way 
to  the  money-bags  of  Michel  Taillefer  with  the  point 
of  his  sword.  Victorine  as  her  brother's  heiress  will 
have  fifteen  thousand  francs  a  year  at  once.  I  have 
made  the  proper  inquiries  ;  the  mother  left  more  than 
three  hundred  thousand." 

Eugene  heard,  but  he  had  no  power  to  answer.  His 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  ;  he  was  over- 
come with  an  unconquerable  drowsiness.  He  saw  the 
table  and  the  faces  of  the  people  through  a  luminous 
haze.  Presently  the  noise  diminished,  the  guests  were 
leaving  one  by  one.  When  Madame  Vauquer,  Madame 
Couture,  Victorine,  Vautrin,  and  Pere  Goriot  alone 
were  left,  Rastignac  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  Madame  Vau- 
quer going  round  the  table  collecting  the  bottles  and 
emptying  their  contents  together  to  make  full  bottles. 

"Are  they  not  foolish;  are  they  not  young?"  she 
said.  Those  were  the  last  words  Eugene  understood. 

"  There  is  nobody  like  Monsieur  Vautrin  for  playing 
such  tricks,"  said  Sylvie.  "  Just  listen  to  Christophe 
snoring  like  a  top  !  " 

"  Good-by,  Mamma,"  said  Vautrin.  "  I  am  off  to  the 
boulevard  to  admire  Monsieur  Marty  in  LeMont  Sau- 


224  Pere  Goriot. 

vage,  a  new  play  taken  from  '  Le  Solitaire.'     If  you 
like,  I  will  take  you  and  these  two  ladies." 

"  I  thank  you,  no,"  said  Madame  Couture. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  lady  ! "  said  Madame  Vauquer, 
"how  can  you  refuse  to  see  a  play  taken  from  'Le 
Solitaire,'  —  a  work  by  Atala  de  Chateaubriand,  that 
we  all  read  and  wept  over  under  the  iieuilles  last  sum- 
mer ;  a  perfectly  moral  tale,  which  might  edify  your 
young  lady  ?  " 

"We  are  forbidden  to  go  to  theatres,"  said  Victorine. 

"  There !   those  two  are  off,"  said  Vautrin,  looking 
at  Rastignac  and  Pere  Goriot  in  a  comical  way,  and 
placing  the  student's  head  back  in  his  chair  so  that  he 
might  rest  more  comfortably  ;  singing  as  he  did  so  — 
"'Sleep  !  sleep!  for  thy  sweet  sake, 
I  watch,  I  wake.'  " 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  ill,"  said  Victorine. 

"  Then  stay  and  nurse  him,"  replied  Vautrin.  "  It 
is,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  a  part  of  your  submis- 
sive duty  as  a  woman.  He  adores  you,  that  young 
man  ;  and  you  will  be  his  little  wife.  Remember,  I 
predict  it.  And  then,"  he  added  aloud,  "  they  were 
much  esteemed  throughout  the  neighborhood,  and  had 
a  large  family,  and  lived  happily  ever  after.  That 's 
the  ending  of  all  love-stories.  Come,  Mamma,"  he 
continued,  turning  to  Madame  Vauquer,  and  putting 
his  arm  round  her.  "  Put  on  your  bonnet  and  the 
beautiful  dress  with  the  flowers  all  over  it,  and  the 
countess's  scarf,  and  let  us  be  off.  I  '11  call  a  coach 
myself,"  and  he  departed,  singing,  — 

"  '  Sun,  Sun  !  divinest  Sun  ! 
That  ripenest  the  lemons  thou  shinest  on.'  " 


Pere  Goriot.  225 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  Madame  Couture,  I  could  live  happy 
in  a  garret  with  that  man !  "  said  Madame  Vauquer. 
"  Look  at  Pere  Goriot !  that  old  miser  never  offered 
to  take  me  nowhere.  He  '11  be  on  the  floor  presently. 
Heavens !  it  is  n't  decent  for  a  man  of  his  age  to  lose 
his  senses  in  that  way.  I  suppose  you  '11  say  he  never 
had  any.  Sylvie,  get  him  upstairs." 

Sylvie  took  the  old  man  under  the  arms  and  made 
him  walk  up  to  his  room,  where  she  threw  him,  dressed 
as  he  was,  across  the  bed. 

"  Poor  young  man  !"  said  Madame  Couture,  putting 
back  Eugene's  hair  which  had  fallen  over  his  forehead  ; 
"  he  is  like  a  young  girl ;  he  did  not  know  the  wine 
would  be  too  much  for  him." 

*'I  can  tell  you,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  "that 
though  I  have  kept  this  pension  forty  years,  and  many 
young  men  have  passed  in  that  time  through  my  hands, 
I  never  knew  one  as  well  behaved  and  gentlemanly  as 
Monsieur  Eugene.  Is  n't  he  handsome  as  he  lies  asleep  ? 
Let  him  rest  his  head  upon  your  shoulder,  Madame 
Couture.  Ah!  he  has  turned  it  towards  Mademoi- 
selle Victorine.  Well,  there  's  a  Providence  for  chil- 
dren ;  a  little  more,  and  he  would  have  cracked  his 
skull  against  the  back  of  the  chair.  Are  not  they  a 
pretty  couple  ?  " 

"  Please  be  silent,"  cried  Madame  Couture,  "  you  are 
saying  things  which  —  " 

"  Bah ! "  said  Madame  Vauquer,  "  he  can't  hear  any- 
thing. Come,  Sylvie,  and  dress  me.  I  am  going  to 
put  on  my  best  corset." 

"  Madame !  your  best  corset  after  dinner ! "  cried 
Sylvie.  "  No,  get  somebody  else  to  lace  it.  I  won't 
15 


226  Pere  Goriot. 

be  the  death  of  you.  You  risk  your  life,  I  tell  you 
that!" 

"  I  don't  care  ;  I  am  going  to  do  honor  to  Monsieur 
Vautrin." 

"  You  must  be  very  fond  of  your  heirs ! " 

"  Come,  Sylvie,  no  talking,"  said  the  widow,  leaving 
the  room. 

"  At  her  age  ! "  said  Sylvie,  pointing  at  her  mistress 
and  looking  at  Victorine. 

Madame  Couture  and  her  ward  remained  alone  in 
the  dining-room,  the  head  of  Eugene  resting  against 
Victorine's  shoulder.  Christophe's  loud  snoring  echoed 
through  the  house  and  made  a  contrast  to  the  peaceful 
slumbers  of  the  student,  who  was  sleeping  as  quietly 
as  an  infant.  Happy  in  allowing  herself  one  of  those 
tender  acts  of  charity  so  dear  to  womanhood,  and  in 
feeling,  without  reproach,  the  heart  of  the  young  man 
beating  against  her  own,  Victorine's  sweet  face  took 
on  a  look  of  maternal  pride  and  protection.  Across 
the  thousand  thoughts  that  stirred  her  heart  there 
came  a  tumultuous  sense  of  her  new  joy,  filling  her 
young  veins  with  pure  and  sacred  warmth. 

"  Poor  darling ! "  said  Madame  Couture,  pressing  her 
hand. 

The  old  lady  gazed  into  the  fair  sad  face,  round 
which  for  the  first  time  shone  the  halo  of  human  happi- 
ness. Victorine  resembled  one  of  those  quaint  pictures 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  where  the  accessories  are  meagre 
or  left  to  the  imagination,  while  the  artist  spends  the 
magic  of  his  calm  and  noble  art  upon  the  face  of  his 
Madonna,  yellow  perhaps  in  tone,  but  reflecting  from 
the  heaven  above  its  golden  tints  of  glory. 


P£re  G-oriot.  227 

"He  only  drank  two  glasses,  Mamma,"  she  said, 
passing  her  fingers  over  his  hair. 

"  If  he  were  a  dissipated  man,  my  dear,  he  could  have 
taken  his  wine  like  all  the  rest ;  the  fact  that  it  over- 
came him  proves  the  contrary." 

The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard. 

"Mamma,"  said  the  young  girl  hastily,  "  here  comes 
Monsieur  Vautrin  ;  take  my  place  by  Monsieur  Eugene. 
I  would  rather  not  be  seen  thus  by  that  man.  He  says 
things  that  sully  the  soul,  and  his  look  abases  me." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Madame  Couture,  "  you  do  him  in- 
justice. Monsieur  Vautrin  is  a  worthy  man, —  some- 
what in  the  style  of  the  late  Monsieur  Couture,  brusque 
but  kindly  ;  a  benevolent  bear." 

At  this  moment  Vautrin  came  softly  in  and  looked 
at  the  young  couple,  on  whom  the  light  of  a  lamp  fell 
caressingly. 

"  Well,  well ! "  he  said,  folding  his  arms,  "  there  's  a 
scene  that  might  have  inspired  some  of  the  finest  pages 
of  that  good  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  author  of  '  Paul 
and  Virginia.'  Youth  is  very  beautiful,  Madame  Cou- 
ture. Sleep,  my  poor  boy,"  he  added,  looking  down 
on  Eugene  ;  "  our  blessings  come  to  us  sleeping.  Ma- 
dame," he  said  presently,  "  what  attaches  me  to  this 
young  man,  and  moves  my  heart  as  I  gaze  upon  him, 
is  that  I  know  the  beauty  of  his  soul  to  be  in  harmony 
with  the  beauty  of  his  face.  See !  is  it  not  the  head  of 
a  cherubim  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  an  angel  ?  He  is 
worthy  of  a  woman's  love.  If  I  were  a  woman  I  would 
be  willing  to  die  —  no !  not  such  a  fool  —  to  live  for 
him.  As  I  gaze  upon  those  two,  Madame,"  he  whis- 
pered, bending  till  he  almost  touched  her  ear,  "  I 


228  Pere  G-oriot. 

cannot  help  thinking  that  God  has  created  them  for  one 
another.  The  ways  of  Providence  are  full  of  mystery  ; 
they  try  the  reins  and  the  heart.  Seeing  you  together, 
my  children,"  he  added  aloud,  "  united  by  an  equal 
purity,  and  by  every  emotion  of  the  human  heart,  I  feel 
it  is  impossible  that  anything  should  part  you  in  the 
future.  God  is  just.  But,"  he  continued,  addressing 
the  young  girl,  "I  think  I  have  noticed  on  your  hand 
the  lines  of  prosperity.  I  know  something  of  palm- 
istry. I  often  tell  fortunes.  Let  me  take  your  hand, 
Mademoiselle  Victorine,  —  don't  be  afraid.  Oh  !  what 
do  I  see  ?  On  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  it  will  not 
be  long  before  you  are  one  of  the  richest  heiresses 
in  Paris!  You  will  make  the  man  who  loves  you 
supremely  happy.  Your  father  will  call  you  to  him. 
You  will  marry  a  man  of  title,  young,  handsome,  and 
who  adores  you." 

At  this  moment  the  heavy  steps  of  the  coquettish 
widow  interrupted  Vautrin's  prophecies. 

"  Here  is  Mamma  Vauquer-r-re,  as  fair  as  a  star-r-r, 
and  decked  out  like  a  carrot.  Are  we  not  just  a  little 
bit  uncomfortable,"  he  added,  putting  his  hand  on  the 
top  of  her  busk.  "  It  strikes  me  we  are  squeezed  a 
shade  too  tight,  Mamma.  If  the  play  should  make  us 
cry,  there  would  be  an  explosion :  but  I  will  pick  up 
the  pieces  with  the  care  of  an  antiquary." 

"  He  knows  the  language  of  French  gallantry, 
does  n't  he  ?  "  whispered  the  widow  in  the  ear  of  Ma- 
dame Couture. 

"  Farewell,  my  children !  "  said  Vautrin,  turning 
towards  Victorine  and  Eugene.  "  I  bless  yoii,"  he 
added,  laying  his  hands  upon  their  heads.  "  Believe 


Pere  Goriot.  229 

me,  Mademoiselle,  there  is  value  in  the  blessing  of  an 
honest  man  ;  it  will  bring  you  joy,  for  God  hears  it." 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Madame  Vauquer 
to  Madame  Couture.  "Do  you  think,"  she  added  in 
a  whisper,  "  that  Monsieur  Vautrin  has  intentions 
towards  me  ?  " 

"  Ah !  my  dear  mother,"  said  Victorine,  looking  at  her 
hands  with  a  sigh  after  the  others  had  departed,  "  sup- 
pose that  good  Monsieur  Vautrin  spoke  the  truth  ?  " 

"  One  thing  could  make  it  true,"  replied  the  old 
lady ;  "  your  monster  of  a  brother  need  only  be  thrown 
from  his  horse  —  " 

"Oh,  Mamma!" 

"  Mon  Dieu,  perhaps  it  is  a  sin  to  wish  harm  to  one's 
enemy.  Well,  I  will  do  penance  for  it.  But,  truly,  I 
should  not  be  sorry  to  lay  flowers  on  his  grave.  He 
lias  a  hard  heart.  He  never  defended  his  mother  ;  he 
took  all  her  fortune,  and  cheated  you  out  of  your  share 
of  it.  My  cousin  had  a  great  deal  of  money.  Unfor- 
tunately for  you  there  was  no  mention  of  her  dot  in 
her  marriage  contract." 

"  My  prosperity  would  be  hard  to  bear  if  it  cost 
any  one  his  life,"  said  Victorine ;  "  and  if  to  make  me 
happy  my  brother  had  to  die,  I  would  rather  be  as  I 
am  now." 

"  Well,  well !  As  that  good  Monsieur  Vautrin  says, 
who,  you  see,  is  full  of  religious  feeling,"  said  Madame 
Couture,  —  "I  am  glad  to  think  he  is  not  an  unbe- 
liever, like  so  many  others,  who  talk  of  God  with  less 
respect  than  they  do  of  the  Devil,  —  well,  as  he  says, 
who  knows  by  what  ways  it  will  please  Providence  to 
guide  us?" 


230  Pere  Goriot. 

Aided  by  Sylvie,  the  two  women  took  Eugene  to 
his  chamber  and  placed  him  on  his  bed,  Sylvie  un- 
fastening his  clothes  to  make  him  more  comfortable. 
Before  leaving  him,  and  when  Madame  Couture  had 
turned  to  go,  Victorine  laid  a  little  kiss  upon  his  fore- 
head, with  a  rapture  of  happiness  naturally  to  be  ex- 
pected from  so  criminal  an  act!  She  looked  round 
the  chamber,  gathered  up,  as  it  were,  in  one  thought 
all  the  joys  of  this  happy  day,  made  a  picture  in  her 
memory  that  she  treasured  long,  and  fell  asleep  the 
happiest  creature  in  all  Paris. 

The  gay  frolic  under  cover  of  which  Vautrin  had 
drugged  the  wine  of  Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot  decided 
his  own  fate.  Bianchon,  half  tipsy,  forgot  to  question 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  concerning  Trompe-la-Mort. 
If  he  had  uttered  that  name  he  would  have  put  Vau- 
trin on  his  guard,  —  or  rather,  to  give  him  his  true 
name,  Jacques  Collin,  one  of  the  celebrities  of  the 
galleys.  Moreover,  the  nickname  of  Venus  of  Pere- 
la-Chaise  decided  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  to  give 
him  up  at  the  very  moment  when,  confident  of  his  lib- 
erality, she  had  calculated  that  it  was  better  policy 
to  warn  him  and  let  him  escape  during  the  night. 
Accompanied  by  Poiret,  she  went  in  search  of  the 
famous  chief  of  detectives  in  the  Petite  Rue  Sainte- 
Anne,  under  the  impression  that  she  was  dealing  with 
an  upper-class  employe  named  Gondureau.  The  direc- 
tor of  the  secret  police  received  her  graciously.  Then, 
after  a  conversation  in  which  the  preliminaries  were 
settled,  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  asked  for  the  dose 
by  the  help  of  which  she  was  to  do  her  work.  The 


Pere  Goriot.  231 

gesture  of  satisfaction  made  by  the  great  man  as  he 
searched  for  the  phial  in  the  drawer  of  his  writing- 
table,  gave  her  a  sudden  conviction  that  there  was 
more  in  this  capture  than  the  mere  arrest  of  an  escaped 
convict.  By  dint  of  beating  her  brains  and  putting 
two  and  two  together,  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  police  hoped,  through  revelations  made  by  con- 
victs won  over  at  the  galleys,  to  lay  their  hands  upon 
a  large  amount  of  money.  When  she  expressed  this 
conjecture  to  the  fox  with  whom  she  was  dealing,  he 
smiled  and  tried  to  turn  aside  her  suspicions. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  he  said.  "  Collin  is  the  most 
dangerous  sorbonne  ever  known  among  our  robbers. 
That 's  the  whole  of  it.  The  rascals  know  this.  He 
is  their  shield,  their  banner,  —  their  Bonaparte,  in 
short.  They  all  love  him.  That  scoundrel  will  never 
leave  his  tranche  on  the  Place  de  Greve." 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  did  not  understand  him  ; 
but  Gondureau  explained  to  her  the  slang  expressions 
he  had  made  use  of.  Sorbonne  and  tranche  are  two 
energetic  words  of  the  thieves'  vocabulary,  invented 
because  these  gentry  were  the  first  to  feel  the  need  of 
considering  the  human  head  from  two  standpoints. 
Sorbonne  is  the  head  of  the  living  man,  —  his  intellect 
and  wisdom.  Tranche  is  a  word  of  contempt,  express- 
ing the  worthlessness  of  the  head  after  it  is  cut  off. 

"  Collin  baffles  us,"  resumed  the  chief.  "  When  we 
have  to  do  with  men  of  his  stamp,  of  steel  and  iron, 
the  law  allows  us  to  kill  them  on  the  spot  if,  when  ar- 
rested, they  make  the  slightest  resistance.  We  expect 
a  struggle  which  will  authorize  us  to  shoot  Collin  to- 
morrow morning.  We  thus  avoid  a  trial  and  the  costs 


232  Pere  Goriot. 

of  imprisonment  and  subsistence,  and  society  is  quit 
of  him.  The  lawyers  and  the  witnesses,  their  pay  and 
expenses,  the  execution,  and  all  the  rest  that  is  re- 
quired to  rid  us  legally  of  such  villains  cost  more 
than  the  three  thousand  francs  we  are  to  pay  you. 
Besides,  it  saves  time.  The  thrust  of  a  bayonet  into 
Trompe-la-Mort's  paunch  will  prevent  a  hundred 
crimes,  and  spare  us  the  consequences  of  the  corrup- 
tion of  fifty  ill-disposed  scoundrels,  who  are  always 
hovei'ing  on  the  verge  of  mischief.  That 's  the  true 
function  of  the  police, — prevention  of  crime.  Philan- 
thropists will  tell  you  so." 

"It  is  serving  one's  country,"  cried  Poiret. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  chief;  "  certainly  we  are  serving 
our  country :  you  are  talking  some  sense  this  morning. 
People  are  very  unjust  to  us  in  this  respect.  We  ren- 
der society  great  services,  and  society  overlooks  them. 
It  takes  superior  men  to  endure  prejudice;  only  a 
Christian  can  accept  the  reproach  that  doing  good  in- 
curs when  it  is  not  done  exactly  in  the  line  of  received 
traditions.  Paris  is  Paris,  you  know.  That  saying 
explains  my  life.  —  I  have  the  honor  to  salute  you, 
Mademoiselle.  I  shall  be  with  my  men  in  the  Jardin 
du  Roi  to-morrow  morning.  Send  Christophe  to  the 
Rue  de  Buffon  aud  ask  for  Monsieur  Gondureau  at  the 
house  where  I  was  staying.  Monsieur,  your  servant. 
If  anybody  ever  robs  you,  let  me  know,  and  I  will  re- 
cover what  is  lost  for  you.  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  Well,"  said  Poiret  to  Mile.  Michonneau,  "  there  are 
fools  in  the  world  who  are  all  upset  by  the  word  '  detec- 
tive.' That  gentleman  is  very  amiable ;  and  what  he 
asks  of  you  is  as  easy  as  saying  'How  do  you  do  ?'" 


Pere  aoriot.  233 


XIV. 

THE  next  day  was  one  long  remembered  in  the  an- 
nals of  the  Haison  Vauquer.  Hitherto  the  most  re- 
markable event  in  its  history  had  been  the  meteoric 
apparition  of  the  fraudulent  countess.  But  all  was  to 
pale  before  the  catastrophes  of  this  great  day,  which 
for  the  rest  of  her  life  supplied  Madame  Vauquer  with 
topics  of  conversation.  In  the  first  place,  Pere  Goriot 
and  Eugene  slept  till  eleven  o'clock.  Madame  Vau- 
quer, who  did  not  get  home  from  the  theatre  till  very 
late,  stayed  in  bed  till  half-past  ten.  Christophe,  who 
had  finished  the  bottle  of  wine  made  over  to  him  by 
Vautrin,  slept  so  late  that  everything  was  behindhand 
in  the  household.  Poiret  and  Mademoiselle  Michon- 
neau  made  no  complaint  about  breakfast  being  late. 
As  for  Victorine  and  Madame  Couture,  they  also  slept 
far  into  the  morning.  Vautrin  went  out  before  eight 
o'clock,  and  got  home  just  as  breakfast  was  on  the 
table.  No  one,  therefore,  offered  any  remonstrance 
when,  at  a  quarter  past  eleven,  Sylvie  and  Christophe 
knocked  at  all  the  doors  and  said  that  breakfast  was 
served.  While  they  were  out  of  the  dining-room, 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  was  the  first  person 
down  that  morning,  poured  her  liquid  into  the  silver 
goblet  belonging  to  Vautrin,  in  which  the  cream  for 
his  coffee  was  heating  in  the  bain-marie,  together 


234  Pere  Goriot. 

with  the  portions  of  the  other  guests.  The  old  maid 
had  counted  on  this  custom  of  the  house  to  accom- 
plish her  purpose. 

It  was  not  without  difficulty  that  the  family  were 
finally  got  together.  At  the  moment  when  Rastignac, 
still  stretching  himself,  came  last  of  all  into  the  dining- 
room,  a  messenger  gave  him  a  note  from  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  which  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  will  not  show  false  pride,  nor  will  I  be  angry  with  you, 
my  friend.  I  waited,  expecting  you,  till  two  in  the  morning. 
To  wait  for  one  we  love !  —  He  who  has  known  such  pain 
would  not  impose  it  on  another.  It  proves  to  me  that  you 
have  never  loved  till  now.  What  has  happened  ?  I  am  very 
anxious.  If  I  did  not  fear  to  betray  the  secrets  of  my  heart  I 
should  have  gone  to  find  out  whether  joy  or  sorrow  had  befallen 
you.  I  feel  the  disadvantage  of  being  only  a  woman.  Re- 
assure me  ;  explain  to  me  why  you  did  not  come  after  what 
my  father  told  you.  I  may  be  angry,  but  I  shall  forgive  you. 
Are  you  ill?  Why  do  you  live  so  far  away  from  me  ?  One 
word  for  pity's  sake  !  You  will  be  here  soon,  will  you  not  ? 
Say  merely,  '  I  am  coming,'  or  '  I  am  ill.'  But  if  you  were 
ill,  my  father  would  have  been  here  to  tell  me.  What  has 
happened  ?  —  " 

"  Yes,  what  has  happened  ?"  cried  Eugene,  hurriedly 
entering  the  dining-room,  and  crumpling  up  his  note 
without  reading  the  rest  of  it.  "  What  o'clock  is  it  ?  " 

"Half-past  eleven,"  said  Vautrin,  putting  sugar  in 
his  coffee. 

The  escaped  convict  gave  Eugene  that  glance  of 
cold  compelling  fascination  which  very  magnetic  people 
have  the  power  of  giving,  —  a  glance  which  is  said  to 
subdue  the  maniacs  in  a  niad-house.  Eugene  trembled 


Pere  Goriot.  235 

in  every  limb.  The  roll  of  a  carriage  was  heard  in  the 
still  street,  and  a  servant  in  the  Taillefer  livery,  which 
Madame  Couture  recognized  at  once,  came  hurriedly 
into  the  dining-room,  with  an  excited  air. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  cried,  "  Monsieur  your  father 
has  sent  for  you.  A  great  misfortune  has  befallen  him. 
Monsieur  Frederic  has  fought  a  duel.  He  received  a 
sword-thrust  in  the  forehead.  The  doctors  have  no 
hope  of  saving  him.  You  will  hardly  be  in  time  to  see 
him  breathe  his  last.  He  is  unconscious  already." 

"Poor  young  man  !"  exclaimed  Vautrin,  "  how  can 
people  quarrel  when  they  have  thirty  thousand  francs 
a  year!  Most  assuredly  young  men  do  not  tread  the 
paths  of  wisdom  —  " 

"  Monsieur ! "  interrupted  Eugene. 

"  Well !  —  and  what  of  it,  you  big  baby  ? "  said 
Vautrin,  quietly  finishing  his  cup  of  coffee,  an  opera- 
tion which  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  watched  so  in- 
tently that  she  paid  no  heed  to  the  extraordinary  event 
that  stupefied  the  people  around  her.  "  Are  there  not 
duels  every  day  in  Paris  ?  " 

"I  shall  go  with  you,  Victorine,"  said  Madame 
Couture. 

The  two  women  flew  off  without  hats  or  shawls. 
Victorine,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  gave  Eugene  a  part- 
ing glance,  which  said,  "  I  did  not  think  our  happiness 
Avould  so  soon  have  turned  to  grief !  " 

"  Why,  you  are  quite  a  prophet,  Monsieur  Vautrin," 
said  Madame  Vauquer. 

"  I  am  all  things,"  replied  Jacques  Collin. 

"  It  is  most  singular,"  said  Madame  Vauquer,  break- 
ing forth  into  a  string  of  commonplaces.  u  Death  takes 


236  Pere  Goriot. 

us  without  warning.  Young  people  are  often  called 
before  the  aged.  It  is  lucky  for  us  women  that  we  are 
not  expected  to  fight  duels.  But  we  have  maladies 
of  our  own  unknown  to  men,  —  child-bed  especially. 
"What  unexpected  luck  for  Victorine  !  Her  father  will 
be  forced  to  acknowledge  her." 

"  Just  think,"  said  Vautrin,  looking  at  Eugene, 
"  yesterday  she  had  not  a  sou;  this  morning  she  has  a 
fortune  of  millions." 

"  Ah  !  Monsieur  Eugene,"  cried  Madame  Vauquer, 
"you  put  your  hand  in  the  bag  at  the  right  moment." 

As  Madame  Vauquer  said  this,  Pere  Goriot  looked  at 
Eugene  and  saw  the  crumpled  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  You  have  not  read  it,"  he  said.  "  What  does  that 
mean  ?  Are  you  like  all  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  shall  never  marry  Mademoiselle  Victo- 
rine," said  Eugene,  addressing  Madame  Vauquer  with 
an  expression  of  mingled  horror  and  disgust  which 
astonished  the  others  at  the  table. 

Pere  Goriot  seized  the  student's  hand  and  pressed 
it ;  he  would  fain  have  kissed  it. 

"  Oh  !  oh  ! "  said  Vautrin,  "  they  have  an  excellent 
saying  in  Italy,  —  col  tempo" 

"  I  was  to  wait  for  an  answer,"  said  the  messenger  to 
Rastignac. 

"  Say  I  am  coming." 

The  man  went  away.  Eugene's  agitation  was  so 
great  that  he  could  not  be  prudent. 

"  What  can  be  done  ?  "  he  said  aloud,  though  speak- 
ing to  himself,  "I  have  no  proofs." 

Vautrin  smiled.  At  this  moment  the  potion  ab- 
sorbed by  the  stomach  began  to  take  effect.  Never- 


Pere  Goriot.  237 

theless  the  convict  was  so  vigorous  that  he  rose,  looked 
at  Rastignac,  and  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  Young  man, 
our  blessings  come  to  us  while  we  sleep." 

As  he  said  the  words  he  fell  down,  to  all  appearance 
dead. 

"  The  justice  of  God  !  "  cried  Eugene. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  matter  with  him,  poor  dear  Mon- 
sieur Vautrin,"  exclaimed  Madame  Vauquer. 

"  It  is  apoplexy,"  cried  Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 

"Sylvie  !  run,  my  girl,  go  for  the  doctor,"  said  the 
widow.  "  Ah,  Monsieur  Rastignac,  go,  please,  and  get 
Monsieur  Bianchon ;  perhaps  Sylvie  will  not  find  our 
own  doctor,  Monsieur  Griraprel." 

Rastignac,  glad  of  the  excuse  to  escape  from  that 
horrible  den,  rushed  away  at  full  speed. 

"  Christophe !  here,  —  go  as  fast  as  you  can  to  the 
apothecary's,  and  ask  him  to  give  you  something  for 
apoplexy.  Pere  Goriot,  help  us  to  carry  him  up  to  his 
own  room." 

Vautrin  was  seized ;  dragged  with  difficulty  up  the 
staircase,  and  laid  upon  his  bed. 

"  I  can  be  of  no  further  use ;  I  am  going  to  see  my 
daughter,"  said  Monsieur  Goriot. 

"  Selfish  old  thing ! "  cried  Madame  Vauquer.  "  Go  ! 
I  only  wish  you  may  die  like  a  dog  yourself." 

"  See  if  you  have  any  ether,  Madame  Vauquer,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  with  the  aid  of  Poiret 
had  unfastened  Vautrin's  clothes. 

Madame  Vauquer  went  to  her  own  room  and  left 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  mistress  of  the  field. 

"Come,  quick!  —  take  off  his  shirt  and  turn  him 
over.  Be  good  for  something  —  so  far,  at  least,  as  to 


238  Pere  Q-oriot. 

save  my  modesty,"  she  said  to  Poiret ;  "  you  stand 
there  like  a  fool." 

Vautrin  being  turned  over,  Mademoiselle  Michon- 
neau  gave  him  a  smart  tap  on  the  shoulder,  and  the  two 
fatal  letters  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  red  circle. 

"  Well,  you  have  not  had  much  trouble  in  earning 
your  three  thousand  francs,"  cried  Poiret,  holding 
Vautrin  up  while  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  was  put- 
ting on  his  shirt  again.  "  Ouf !  but  he  is  heavy,"  he 
said,  laying  him  down. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  strong- 
box —  or  a  safe  ?  "  said  the  old  maid  with  avidity,  her 
eyes  almost  looking  through  the  walls  as  she  glanced 
eagerly  at  every  bit  of  furniture  in  the  room.  "  If  one 
could  only  open  this  writing-desk  on  some  pretext," 
she  said. 

"  Perhaps  that  would  n't  be  right,"  remarked  Poiret. 

"  Where  's  the  harm  ?  Stolen  money  belongs  to  no 
one  — it  is  anybody's.  But  we  have  not  time,  I  hear 
the  Vauquer." 

"  Here  is  the  ether,"  said  the  widow.  "  Well,  I  de- 
clare, this  is  a  day  of  adventures —  but,  look !  that  man 
cannot  be  so  very  ill ;  he  is  as  white  as  a  chicken." 

"  As  a  chicken,"  repeated  Poiret. 

"  His  heart  beats  regularly,"  said  Madame  Vauquer, 
placing  her  hand  upon  it. 

"  Regularly  ?  —  does  it  though  ?  "  said  Poiret,  sur- 
prised. 

«  He  is  all  right." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  Poiret. 

"  Why,  yes  !  he  looks  as  if  he  were  sleeping.  Sylvie 
has  gone  for  the  doctor.  Look,  Mademoiselle  Michon- 


Pere  Goriot.  239 

neau,  he  is  sniffing  the  ether.  Bah !  it  was  only  a 
kind  of  spasm  ;  his  pulse  is  good.  He  is  as  strong  as 
a  Turk.  Just  see,  Mademoiselle,  what  a  fur  tippet  he 
has  got  on  his  breast !  He  will  live  to  be  a  hundred, 
he  will !  His  wig  has  n't  tumbled  off  —  goodness  ! 
why,  it  is  glued  on.  He  has  got  some  hair  of  his  own 
—  and  it 's  red  !  They  say  men  with  red  hair  are 
either  very  good  or  very  bad :  he  is  one  of  the  good 
ones." 

"  Good  enough  to  hang,"  interrupted  Poiret. 

"  Round  a  pretty  woman's  neck,  you  mean,"  cried 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau  quickly.  "  Go  downstairs, 
Monsieur  Poiret.  It  is  our  place  to  take  care  of  you 
men  when  you  are  ill.  You  had  better  go  out  and 
take  a  walk, — for  all  the  good  you  do,"  she  added. 
"  Madame  Vauquer  and  I  will  sit  here  and  watch  this 
dear  Monsieur  Vautrin." 

Thus  admonished,  Poiret  slunk  off  without  a  mur- 
mur, like  a  hound  that  has  got  a  kick  from  its  master. 

Rastignac  had  gone  to  walk,  to  breathe  fresh  air,  for 
he  was  stifled.  What  had  happened  ?  The  crime  had 
been  committed  at  the  hour  fixed ;  he  had  wanted  to 
put  a  stop  to  it  the  evening  before  —  what  had  hin- 
dered ?  .What  must  he  do  now?  He  trembled  lest  in 
some  way  he  was  an  accomplice.  Vautrin's  cool  as- 
surance horrified  him  still. 

"Suppose  he  dies  without  speaking?"  he  asked 
himself. 

He  was  walking  breathlessly  along  the  alleys  of  the 
Luxembourg,  as  if  pursued  by  a  pack  of  hounds :  he 
seemed  to  hear  them  yelping  on  his  traces. 


240  Pere  G-oriot. 

"  Here  1 "  cried  the  voice  of  Bianchon,  "  have  you 
seen  the  Pilote?" 

The  Pilote  was  a  radical  paper  edited  by  Monsieur 
Tissot,  which  made  up  a  country  edition  a  few  hours 
after  the  appearance  of  the  morning  papers,  and  often 
contained  items  of  later  news. 

"  There 's  a  great  affair  in  it,"  said  Bianchon ;  "  young 
Taillefer  has  fought  a  duel  with  Comte  de  Franchessini 
of  the  Old  Guard,  who  ran  two  inches  of  his  sword 
into  his  forehead.  So  now  the  little  Victorine  is  one 
of  the  best  matches  in  Paris.  Hein  !  if  one  had  only 
known  it!  What  a  game  of  chance  life  is —  and 
death,  too.  Is  it  true  that  Victorine  looks  upon  you 
with  an  eye  of  favor,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Bianchon  !  I  will  never  marry  her.  I  love 
a  charming  woman,  —  a  woman  who  loves  me.  I  — 

"  Well,  you  say  it  in  a  tone  as  if  you  were  goading 
yourself  not  to  give  up  your  charming  woman.  Show 
me  the  lady  worth  the  sacrifice  of  the  wealth  of  the 
house  of  Taillefer." 

"  Are  all  the  devils  on  my  track  ?  "  cried  Rastignac. 

"  Why,  what  are  you  about  ?  Haye  you  gone  mad  ? 
Give  me  your  wrist,"  said  Bianchon,  "  I  want  to  feel 
your  pulse.  You  have  got  a  fever." 

"Go  at  once  to  Mother  Vauquer's,"  said  Eugene: 
"that  scoundrel  Vautrin  has  just  dropped  dead." 

"  Ah-h  !  "  cried  Bianchon,  dropping  Rastignac's 
hand,  "that  confirms  my  suspicions;  I  will  make  sure 
about  them." 

During  his  long  walk  Eugene  passed  through  a 
solemn  crisis.  He  made,  as  it  were,  the  circuit  of  his 
conscience.  If  he  struggled  with  his  own  soul,  if 


Pere  Croriot.  241 

he  hankered  and  hesitated,  it  must  be  owned  that  his 
probity  came  out  of  that  bitter  and  terrible  discus- 
sion like  a  bar  of  iron,  proof  against  every  test.  He 
remembered  the  secret  Pere  Goriot  had  let  drop  the 
day  before.  He  thought  of  the  appartement  chosen 
for  him  by  Delphine  in  the  Rue  d'Artois.  He  took 
out  her  letter,  and  re-read  it,  and  kissed  it. 

"Her  love  is  my  sheet  anchor,"  he  said.  "  The  poor 
old  man,  too,  —  he  has  had  much  to  suffer  !  He  says 
nothing  of  his  griefs,  but  who  cannot  guess  what  they 
have  been  to  him?  "Well,  I  will  take  care  of  him 
as  if  he  were  my  father ;  I  will  give  him  the  joys  he 
longs  for.  If  she  loves  me  she  will  sometimes  come 
and  pass  the  day  with  him.  —  That  grand  Comtesse 
de  Restaud  is  a  vile  woman  ;  she  shuts  her  doors 
against  her  father.  Dear  Delphine!  she  is  kinder 
to  the  poor  old  man  —  yes !  she  is  worth  loving." 
He  drew  out  his  watch  and  admired  it.  "  Everything 
will  go  well  with  me,"  he  said.  "  When  people  love 
each  other,  what  harm  is  there  in  accepting  mutual 
gifts?  I  may  keep  it.  Besides,  I  shall  succeed, 
and  repay  her  a  hundredfold.  In  this  liaison  there 
is  no  crime,  —  nothing  to  make  the  strictest  virtue 
frown.  We  deceive  no  one  :  it  is  falsehood  that  makes 
us  vile.  How  many  honorable  people  contract  just 
such  unions!  Her  quarrel  with  her  husband  is  irre- 
mediable.—  Suppose  I  were  to  ask  him,  that  big 
Alsatian,  to  give  up  to  me  a  woman  he  can  never 
render  happy  ?  " 

The  struggle  of  his  mind  lasted  long.     Though  the 
victory  remained  with  the  virtues  of  youth,   and   he 
repulsed  the  temptation  to  make  himself  the  accom- 
16 


242  Pere  Goriot. 

plice  of  a  deed  of  blood,  he  was  nevertheless  drawn 
back  at  dusk  to  the  Maison  Vauquer  by  an  irresistible 
impulse  of  curiosity.  He  swore  to  himself  that  he 
would  quit  the  place  forever,  but  he  must  know  if 
Vautrin  was  dead. 

Bianchon  after  administering  an  emetic  had  taken 
the  matters  vomited  by  Vautrin  to  his  hospital  for 
chemical  analysis.  When  he  saw  Mademoiselle  Mich- 
onneau's  anxiety  to  have  them  thrown  away  his  sus- 
picions increased ;  but  Vautrin  got  over  the  attack  so 
quickly  that  he  soon  dropped  the  idea  of  a  plot  agaiust 
the  life  of  that  jovial  merry-maker. 

When  Rastignac  came  in,  Vautrin  was  standing  by 
the  stove  in  the  dining-room.  The  guests  had  come 
together  earlier  than  usual,  anxious  to  learn  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  duel  and  to  know  what  influence  it 
would  have  on  the  future  of  Victorine.  As  Eugene 
entered,  he  caught  the  eye  of  the  imperturbable  sphinx. 
The  look  the  latter  gave  him  pierced  deep  into  his 
heart,  and  touched  some  chords  of  evil  with  so  pow- 
erful a  spell  that  he  shivered. 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  escaped  convict, 
"  Death  will  have  a  fierce  struggle  to  get  hold  of  me. 
These  ladies  tell  me  I  have  recovered  from  a  rush  of 
blood  to  the  head  that  would  have  killed  an  ox." 

"  Indeed,  you  might  say  a  bull,"  said  Madame 
Vauquer. 

"  Are  you  sorry  to  see  me  alive  ?  "  said  Vautrin  to 
Eugene  in  a  whisper,  divining  his  thought.  "  You 
will  find,  on  the  contrary,  that  I  am  devilishly  strong." 

"  Ah,  by  the  by  ! "  exclaimed  Bianchon,  "  the  day 
before  yesterday  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  was  speak- 


Pere  Goriot.  243 

ing  of  a  man  named  Trompe-la-Mort.  That  name 
would  suit  you,  Monsieur  Vautrin." 

The  words  were  a  thunderbolt  to  Vautrin.  He 
turned  pale  and  staggered.  His  magnetic  glance  fell 
on  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who  sank  beneath  the 
power  of  his  eye.  She  fell  back  on  a  chair,  her  knees 
giving  way  under  her.  Poiret  stepped  nimbly  between 
the  two,  understanding  instinctively  that  she  was  in 
danger,  so  ferocious  was  the  expression  of  the  convict 
as  he  threw  off  the  mask  of  good  humor  under  which 
he  had  so  long  concealed  his  real  nature.  Without 
the  least  comprehending  what  was  taking  place  before 
their  eyes,  the  others  saw  that  something  was  wrong, 
and  stood  by  bewildered.  At  that  moment  footsteps 
were  heard  and  the  rattle  of  muskets  in  the  street,  as 
a  squad  of  soldiers  brought  their  pieces  to  the  pave- 
ment. While  Collin  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  win- 
dows and  the  walls,  instinctively  looking  for  the  means 
of  escape,  four  men  showed  themselves  at  the  door  of 
the  dining-room.  The  foremost  was  the  chief  of  the 
detective  police,  and  the  three  others  were  members 
of  his  force. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  law  and  the  King ! "  said  one  of 
the  latter,  his  words  being  drowned  by  a  murmur  of 
amazement ;  but  in  a  moment  silence  reigned  in  the 
room  as  the  guests  stood  aside  to  give  passage  to  these 
men,  each  of  whom  had  his  right  hand  in  a  side-pocket 
where  he  held  a  loaded  pistol.  Two  gendarmes,  who 
stepped  in  after  the  detectives,  stood  by  the  doorway 
leading  to  the  salon,  while  two  more  appeared  at  that 
which  opened  towards  the  staircase.  The  tread  and 
the  guns  of  a  squad  of  soldiers  outside  sounded  on 


244  Pere  Goriot. 

the  pebble-paved  space  along  the  side  of  the  building. 
Every  chance  of  flight  was  thus  cut  off  from  Trompe- 
la-Mort,  on  whom  all  eyes  now  turned  in  his  extremity. 
The  chief  went  straight  to  him,  and  gave  him  a  blow 
so  vigorously  applied  that  it  tore  the  wig  from  its 
place,  and  showed  the  head  of  Collin  in  all  its  horrible 
integrity.  The  hair,  red  and  close-cropped,  gave  to  his 
face  a  look  of  mingled  strength  and  cunning  ;  and  the 
harmony  of  the  face  and  head  with  the  stalwart  chest 
revealed  the  whole  being  of  the  man  as  by  a  flash 
from  the  fires  of  hell.  All  present  comprehended 
Vautrin,  —  his  past,  his  present,  the  future  before  him, 
his  implacable  dogmas,  the  religion  of  his  own  good 
pleasure,  the  dominion  he  had  exercised  by  the  cyni- 
cism of  his  ideas  and  his  acts,  and  by  the  force  of  his 
extraordinary  organism.  The  blood  rushed  to  his 
face,  and  his  eyes  glittered  like  those  of  a  wildcat. 
He  made  one  bound  of  savage  energy  ;  he  uttered  one 
roar,  so  ferocious  that  the  people  near  him  shrank  back 
in  fear.  At  this  movement,  like  that  of  a  lion  at  bay, 
and  assuming  to  be  justified  by  the  terror  of  the  by- 
standers, the  detectives  drew  their  pistols.  Collin  no 
sooner  heard  the  cocking  of  the  triggers  than  he  un- 
derstood his  danger,  aud  gave  instant  proof  of  the 
highest  of  human  powers,  —  horrible,  yet  majestic 
spectacle  !  His  whole  being  passed  through  a  pheno- 
menal change  which  can  only  be  compared  to  that 
which  takes  place  in  a  boiler  full  of  the  steam  that  can 
blast  mountains  in  its  might,  and  yet  at  the  touch  of 
a  drop  of  cold  water  sinks  into  instant  dissolution. 
The  drop  of  water  which  in  a  moment  calmed  his 
rage  was  a  reflection  that  flashed,  quick  as  lightning, 


P$re  Goriot.  245 

through  his  brain.  He  smiled  quietly,  and  glanced  at 
his  wig. 

"This  is  not  one  of  your  polite  days,"  he  said  to  the 
chief  of  police,  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  gen- 
darmes with  a  motion  of  his  head.  "Messieurs,  put 
on  the  handcuffs.  I  take  all  present  to  witness  that  I 
make  no  resistance." 

A  murmur  of  admiration,  called  forth  by  the  promp- 
titude with  which  this  wondrous  man  mastered  the 
fire  and  molten  lava  of  the  volcano  in  his  breast,  ran 
through  the  room. 

"  That  puts  an  end  to  your  kind  intentions,"  he  said, 
looking  full  at  the  celebrated  director  of  the  detective 
police. 

"  Come,  undress ! "  said  the  chief,  in  a  tone  of 
contempt. 

"What  for?"  asked  Collin.  "There  are  ladies 
present.  I  deny  nothing,  and  I  surrender." 

He  paused,  and  looked  on  all  around  him  with  the 
air  of  an  orator  about  to  hold  the  attention  of  his 
audience. 

"  Write  down,  Papa  Lachapelle,"  he  said,  address- 
ing a  little  old  man  with  white  hair,  who  placed  him- 
self at  the  end  of  the  table,  taking  from  a  portfolio  a 
form  for  the  official  report  of  the  arrest,  "  that  I  ac- 
knowledge myself  to  be  Jacques  Collin,  condemned  to 
twenty  years'  imprisonment;  and  I  have  just  given 
proof  that  I  did  not  steal  my  nickname.  If  I  had  so 
much  as  lifted  a  hand,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  late  com- 
panions, "  those  fellows  would  have  spilled  my  claret  on 
the  domestic  hearthstone  of  Mamma  Vauquer.  These 
rogues  delight  in  setting  snares  for  their  victims." 


246  Pere  Goriot. 

Madame  Vauquer  turned  pale  on  hearing  these 
words.  "  Mon  Dieu ! "  she  cried,  "  it  is  enough  to 
bring  on  an  illness !  To  think  of  my  having  been  at 
the  theatre  with  him  only  last  evening  !  "  she  said 
to  Sylvie. 

"  Show  more  philosophy,  Mamma,"  said  Collin. 
"  Was  it  really  a  misfortune  to  amuse  yourself  in  my 
box  at  the  Gaite  last  night?  Are  you  better  than  we? 
We  have  less  infamy  branded  on  our  shoulders  than 
you  have  in  your  hearts,  —  you  flabby  members  of  a 
gangrened  society !  Even  the  best  among  you  could 
not  hold  out  against  me."  His  eyes  turned  to  Rastig- 
nac,  to  whom  he  gave  a  kindly  smile  in  strange  con- 
trast to  the  harsh  expression  of  his  features.  "  Our 
little  bargain  holds  good,  my  lad,"  he  said ;  "  that  is, 
in  case  of  acceptance.  You  know  —  "  and  he  sang  : 
"  '  My  Fanny  is  charming 
In  her  simplicity.' 

Don't  be  uneasy,"  he  resumed.  "  I  shall  be  all  right 
again  before  long.  They  fear  me  too  much  to  play 
me  false." 

The  bagne,  with  its  manners  and  vocabulary,  its 
abrupt  transitions  from  the  jocose  to  the  horrible,  its 
fiendish  grandeur,  its  familiarity,  its  degradation,  were 
all  exhibited  to  the  eye  in  the  person  of  this  man, — 
no  longer  a  man,  but  the  type  of  a  degenerate  race ;  of 
a  savage  people,  lawless  yet  logical,  brutal  but  pliant. 
On  a  sudden  Collin  had  become  an  infernal  poem,  an 
exposition  of  all  human  emotions  save  one,  —  repent- 
ance. His  glance  was  that  of  the  fallen  angel,  prepared 
to  carry  on  a  losing  war.  Rastignac  bent  his  head, 
accepting  the  comradeship  thus  foi'ced  upon  him,  in 


Pere  Goriot.  247 

expiation  of  the  evil  thoughts  which  had  brought  him 
near  to  crime. 

"Who  betrayed  me?"  said  Collin,  casting  his 
glance  around  the  circle.  It  stopped  at  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau.  "  Ah !  it  was  you,  sleuth-hound  !  —  you 
gave  me  a  sham  apoplexy,  you  prying  devil !  If  I  said 
two  words,  your  head  would  be  mown  off  in  a  week. 
But  I  forgive  you.  I  'm  a  Christian.  Besides,  it  was 
not  you  who  sold  me.  But  who,  then  ?  —  Ha,  ha ! 
you  are  rummaging  up  there,"  he  cried,  hearing  the 
detectives  overhead,  who  were  opening  his  closets 
and  taking  possession  of  his  effects.  "  The  birds  are 
flown,  the  nest  is  empty.  You  can  find  nothing  there. 
My  ledgers  are  here,"  he  added,  tapping  his  forehead. 
"  Now  I  know  who  sold  me.  It  can  be  no  other  than 
that  dirty  blackguard,  Fil  de  Soie.  Is  n't  it  so,  Father 
Catch'em  ?"  he  said  to  the  chief  of  police.  "  I  guess  it 
from  the  way  you  are  looking  for  the  bank-notes  up- 
stairs. None  there,  my  little  spies!  As  for  Fil  de 
Soie,  —  he  '11  be  under  the  sod  in  a  fortnight,  even  if 
you  try  to  guard  him  with  the  whole  force  of  your 
gendarmerie.  How  much  did  you  pay  that  old 
Michonnette  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  the  police  agents. 
"  Only  a  thousand  crowns  ?  Why,  I  was  worth  more 
than  that,  you  decayed  Ninon  —  Pompadour  in  tatters 
—  Venus  of  the  cemetery !  If  you  had  given  me 
warning,  I  'd  have  paid  you  double.  Ha !  you  did 
think  of  it  ?  —  Haggler  in  human  flesh !  Yes,  I 
would  have  given  you  six  thousand  francs  to  spare 
myself  a  journey  which  I  don't  like,  —  and  which  puts 
me  out  of  pocket,"  he  added,  as  they  were  screwing  on 
the  handcuffs.  "These  people  will  take  pleasure  in 


248  Pere  Goriot. 

letting  things  drag  along,  just  to  keep  me  idle.  If  they 
would  only  send  me  off  to  the  galleys  at  once,  I  should 
soon  get  back  to  my  work,  in  spite  of  those  simpletons 
at  the  prefecture  of  police.  La  bas  [down  there] 
they  would  turn  their  souls  inside  out  to  set  their  gen- 
eral at  liberty,  —  their  trusty  Trompe-la-Mort.  Is 
there  any  one  of  you  who  can  boast  of  having,  as  I 
have,  ten  thousand  brothers  ready  to  do  everything 
for  you  ?  "  he  asked  proudly.  "  There  is  virtue  here," 
striking  his  breast.  "  I  have  never  betrayed  any  one. 
Ha!  old  adder!"  he  continued,  addressing  the  old 
maid.  "  Look  at  these  people.  They  fear  me,  but 
they  loathe  you.  Pick  up  your  gains  and  begone ! " 

He  made  a  pause,  and  looked  round  upon  the  other 
guests. 

"  What  fools  you  are !  "  he  said.  "  Did  you  never 
see  a  convict  ?  A  convict  of  the  stamp  of  Collin,  here 
present,  is  a  man  who  is  less  base  than  other  men,  and 
who  protests  against  the  glaring  deceptions  of  the  so- 
cial contract,  as  Jean  Jacques  called  it,  —  whose  pupil 
I  am  proud  to  be.  For  myself,  I  stand  alone  against 
the  Government,  with  all  its  courts  of  law,  its  budgets 
and  gendarmes,  —  and  I  get  the  better  of  it." 

"  The  devil ! "  exclaimed  the  painter.  "  I  should 
like  to  sketch  him  now." 

"Tell  me,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  chief  of 
police,  —  "  tell  me,  equerry  to  Monseigneur  the  execu- 
tioner, govei-nor  of  the  Widow  \La  Veuve,  —  appalling 
name,  full  of  terrible  poesy,  given  by  the  convicts  to 
the  guillotine]  ;  come,  be  a  good  fellow  and  say,  was 
it  Fil  de  Soie  who  sold  me?  I  should  be  sorry  if  he 
died  for  another;  it  would  not  be  just." 


P£re  Goriot.  249 

At  this  moment  the  detectives,  who  had  opened 
everything  and  taken  an  inventory  of  all  that  was  in 
his  apartment,  came  down  and  said  something  in  a  low 
voice  to  the  chief  of  police.  The proces-verbal  (written 
official  report  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  arrest) 
was  now  completed. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Collin,  turning  to  his  late  com- 
panions, "  they  are  about  to  take  me  from  you.  You 
have  all  been  very  amiable  to  me  during  my  residence 
among  you,  and  I  shall  think  of  you  with  gratitude. 
Receive  my  adieux.  You  will  permit  me  to  send  you 
figs  from  Provence." 

He  went  a  few  steps,  and  then  turned  and  looked  at 
Rastignac. 

"Adieu,  Eugene,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle,  sad  voice, 
strangely  in  contrast  with  the  rough  tone  he  had  used 
hitherto.  "  If  you  are  ever  in  trouble,  remember,  —  I 
leave  you  a  devoted  friend."  Notwithstanding  his 
handcuffs,  he  put  himself  on  guard,  gave  the  word  like 
a  fencing-master,  —  one,  two,  —  and  made  a  pass  as  if 
with  the  sword.  "  In  case  of  misfortune,  go  there. 
Man  or  money,  —  all  are  at  your  disposal." 

This  strange  being  put  so  much  buffoonery  into 
these  last  words  that  no  one  present  understood  their 
meaning  except  Rastignac. 

When  the  house  was  vacated  by  the  gendarmes,  the 
soldiers,  and  the  agents  of  the  police,  Sylvie,  who  was 
bathing  her  mistress's  forehead  with  vinegar,  looked 
round  upon  the  assembled  household  and  said, — 

"  Well  —  all  the  same,  he  was  a  good  man." 

These  words  broke  the  spell  which  the  rush  of 
events  and  the  diversity  of  emotions  had  exercised 


250  PZre  Goriot. 

over  the  spectators  of  this  strange  scene.  They 
glanced  at  each  other,  and  then  by  a  common  im- 
pulse all  turned  to  Mademoiselle  Michonneau,  who 
crouched  near  the  stove,  cold,  bloodless,  withered  as  a 
mummy,  —  her  eyes  cast  down  as  though  she  felt  the 
protection  of  the  green  shade  insufficient  to  conceal 
their  expression.  The  cause  of  the  aversion  they  had 
long  felt  for  her  was  suddenly  made  clear  to  their 
minds.  A  murmur  of  disgust,  which  by  its  unanimity 
expressed  the  common  feeling  of  all  present,  sounded 
through  the  room.  Mademoiselle  Michonneau  heard 
it,  but  she  did  not  change  her  attitude.  Bianchon 
was  the  first  to  speak.  He  turned  to  the  man  next 
him  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  I  shall  decamp  if  she  is  to  eat  her  dinner  here." 

Instantly  every  one,  except  Poiret,  accepted  the 
suggestion ;  and  the  medical  student,  sustained  by  pub- 
lic opinion,  walked  up  to  the  old  man. 

"  You  who  enjoy  a  special  intimacy  with  Mademoi- 
selle Michonneau,"  he  said,  "  had  better  speak  to  her. 
Make  her  understand  that  she  must  leave  this  house 
without  delay." 

"  Without  delay  ?  "  repeated  Poiret,  astonished. 

Then  he  went  up  to  the  old  maid  and  said  something 
in  a  whisper. 

"But  I  have  paid  a  month  in  advance;  I  have  a 
right  to  stay  here  while  I  pay  my  money  like  every- 
body else,"  she  said,  darting  a  viperous  glance  at  the 
company. 

"  That  need  not  hinder,"  said  Rastignac,  "  we  will 
all  subscribe  and  return  you  the  money." 

"  Monsieur  stands  up  for  Collin?  "  she  replied,  casting 


Pere  Gorioti  251 

a  venomous  and  searching  look  at  Rastignac.  "It  is 
easy  to  guess  why.  We  all  heard  his  last  words." 

Eugene  sprang  forward  as  though  he  would  have 
seized  and  strangled  her. 

"  Let  her  alone !  "  cried  the  others. 

Rastignac  folded  his  arms  and  stood  mute. 

"  We  must  get  rid  of  Mademoiselle  Judas,"  said  the 
painter,  turning  to  Madame  Vauquer.  "  Madame,  if 
you  do  not  turn  out  la  Michonneau  we  shall  all  leave 
you ;  and  we  shall  report  everywhere  that  your  pension 
is  frequented  by  spies  and  convicts.  If  you  do  as  we 
demand,  we  will  be  silent  about  what  has  happened,  — 
which,  indeed,  is  liable  to  take  place  in  the  best  estab- 
lishments, until  galley-slaves  are  branded  on  the  fore- 
head and  prevented  from  disguising  themselves  as 
honest  citizens  and  playing  the  buffoon  as  they  please." 

Hearing  this,  Madame  Vauquer  miraculously  recov- 
ered her  senses,  sat  upright,  folded  her  arms,  and  opened 
her  cold  light  eyes,  which  showed  no  trace  of  tears. 

"But,  my  dear  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "do  you  mean 
to  ruin  my  house  ?  There  is  Monsieur  Vautrin  —  oh ! 
Mon  Dieu"  she  cried,  interrupting  herself,  "I  cannot 
help  giving  him  his  honest  name !  —  he  leaves  me  a 
whole  suite  of  rooms  vacant;  and  now  you  ask  me  to 
consent  to  have  two  more  rooms  unoccupied  at  a  season 
when  everybody  is  settled  ! " 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  get  your  hats.  We  will  go  and 
dine  in  the  Place  Sorbonne  at  Flicoteaux's,"  said 
Bianchon. 

Madame  Vauquer  made  a  rapid  mental  calculation  as 
to  which  side  her  interest  lay,  and  then  waddled  up  to 
Mademoiselle  Michonneau. 


252  Pere  Goriot. 

"  Come,  my  dear  good  lady,"  she  said,  "  you  don't 
want  to  be  the  death  of  my  establishment,  I  am  sure. 
You  see  to  what  an  extremity  I  am  reduced  by  the  be- 
havior of  these  gentlemen.  Go  up  to  your  room  for 
this  evening." 

"  That  won't  do !  That  will  not  do  at  all ! "  cried  all 
the  others.  "  We  insist  upon  her  leaving  the  house  at 
once." 

"  But  she  has  not  dined,"  said  Poiret  piteously. 

"She  can  get  her  dinner  somewhere  else,"  cried 
several  voices. 

"  Begone,  spy ! " 

"  Down  with  the  spies  —  with  both  of  them  ! " 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Poiret,  suddenly  exhibiting  the 
courage  of  an  old  ram  defending  his  favorite  ewe,  "  re- 
spect her  sex." 

"  Spies  are  not  of  any  sex." 

"  Famous  sex-orama  ! " 

"  A  la  porte-orama  !  " 

"Gentlemen,  this  is  indecent.  When  people  are 
dismissed  from  a  house  there  are  certain  formalities  to 
be  observed.  We  have  paid  our  board  in  advance, 
and  we  shall  stay,"  said  Poiret,  putting  on  his  amor- 
phous old  hat,  and  taking  a  chair  beside  Mademoiselle 
Michonneau,  to  whom  Madame  Vauquer  was  appealing 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Ah  !  you  bad  boy !  "  cried  the  painter  ;  "petit  me- 
chant,  va ! " 

"  Come  on,  then,"  said  Bianchon,  "  if  they  are  not 
going,  we  are." 

At  this  summons  all  the  guests  moved  in  a  body  to 
the  door  of  the  salon. 


Pere  Goriot.  253 

"  Mademoiselle !  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  shall  be  ruined ! " 
cried  Madame  Vauquer.  "You  cannot  stay  —  they 
will  proceed  to  violence." 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  rose. 

"  She  is  going !  " 

"  She  won't  go  !  " 

"  Yes,  she  will ! " 

"  No,  she  won't ! " 

These  alternating  exclamations  and  the  increasing 
hostility  of  all  around  her  decided  the  old  maid,  and 
she  prepared  to  leave,  after  a  few  whispered  stipulations 
with  her  landlady. 

"  I  am  going  to  Madame  Buneaud's,"  she  said  with 
a  menacing  air. 

"  Go  where  you  choose,  Mademoiselle,"  cried  Madame 
Vauquer.  to  whom  this  choice  of  the  rival  establish- 
ment added  insult  to  injury.  "Go,  if  you  like,  to  the 
Buneaud's.  She  will  give  you  wine  fit  to  make  the 
goats  caper  with  stomach-ache,  and  stews  made  of  cold 
pieces  from  the  eating-houses." 

The  guests  stood  in  a  double  row  in  profound  silence. 
Poiret  looked  so  tenderly  at  Mademoiselle  Michonneau, 
and  yet  was  so  naively  undecided  whether  he  ought  to 
go  or  stay,  that  the  victorious  party,  put  in  good  hu- 
mor by  the  departure  of  the  old  maid,  began  to  laugh 
at  him. 

"  Xi,  xi,  xi,  Poiret ! "  cried  the  painter,  as  if  setting 
on  a  dog ;  "  hi,  old  fellow !  " 

The  Museum  employe  began  to  sing,  with  comic 
gestures,  a  well-known  ballad :  — 

"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie 
Le  jeune  et  beau  Dunois." 


254  Pere  Goriot. 

"  You  had  better  go,  Poiret ;  you  are  dying  to  follow 
her," cried  Bianchon,  —  " trahit  sua  quemque voluptas" 

"  Like  follows  like  —  translation  more  liberal  than 
literal  from  Virgil,"  said  a  tutor  who  was  one  of  the 
guests. 

Mademoiselle  Michonneau  looked  hard  at  Poiret, 
and  made  a  movement  as  if  to  take  his  arm.  He  was 
unable  to  resist  the  appeal,  and  came  forward  to  sup- 
port her.  There  was  a  burst  of  applause  and  peals  of 
laughter. 

"  Bravo,  Poiret ! " 

"  Good  for  old  Poiret !  " 

"  Poiret-Apollo ! " 

"  Poiret-Mars ! " 

"  Plucky  Poiret ! " 

At  this  moment  a  messenger  came  in  with  a  note 
for  Madame  Vauquer.  She  read  it,  and  sank  down 
upon  a  chair. 

"  Now  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  be  struck  by  light- 
ning," she  said,  "  and  burn  the  house  down  !  Young 
Taillefer  died  at  three  o'clock.  I  am  rightly  punished 
for  having  wished  those  ladies  good-luck  at  the  expense 
of  that  poor  young  man.  Madame  Couture  and  Vic- 
torine  have  sent  for  their  things,  and  are  going  to 
live  with  the  father.  Monsieur  Taillefer  allows  his 
daughter  to  keep  the  widow  Couture  as  her  companion. 
Four  appartement  vacant !  Five  lodgers  gone  !  "  she 
said,  with  tears  in  her  voice.  "  Misfortune  has  visited 
my  house ! " 

The  roll  of  a  carriage  echoed  up  the  quiet  street  and 
stopped  before  the  door. 

"  Here 's  some  lucky  windfall,"  cried  Sylvie. 


Pere  Goriot.  255 

Goriot  came  in,  radiant  with  happiness ;  his  face 
shone  ;  he  seemed  transfigured. 

"  Goriot  in  a  hackney-coach  ! "  cried  the  others ; 
"  the  end  of  the  world  has  come ! " 

The  old  fellow  went  straight  to  Rastignac,  who  was 
standing  apart  dumb-founded,  and  took  him  by  the 
arm.  "  Cotne  !  "  he  cried  eagerly. 

"Do  you  know  what  has  happened  ?"  said  Eugene; 
"  Vautrin  was  a  convict  escaped  from  the  galleys ;  they 
have  just  arrested  him.  And  young  Taillefer  is  dead." 

"  Well  —  what  is  that  to  us  ?  "  replied  Pere  Goriot ; 
"  I  am  to  dine  with  my  daughter  to-day  at  your  rooms ; 
you  undei-stand  ?  She  is  waiting  for  us.  Come  ! " 

He  pulled  Rastignac  violently  by  the  arm,  and  car- 
ried him  off  as  if  he  were  a  lover  and  Rastignac  a 
woman . 

"  Let  us  sit  down  to  dinner ;  "  said  the  painter,  and 
each  took  his  place  at  table. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Sylvie,  "  things  do  go  wrong  to- 
day !  My  haricot  of  mutton  has  got  stuck.  Well ! 
you  will  have  to  eat  it  burned,  whether  or  no  ! " 

Madame  Vauquer  had  no  heart  to  say  a  word  when 
she  saw  ten  persons  instead  of  eighteen  sitting  down 
to  table ;  but  they  all  made  a  good-natured  effort  to 
console  her  and  cheer  her  up  ;  and  though  at  first  they 
could  think  of  nothing  but  Vautrin  and  the  startling 
events  of  the  day,  the  serpentine  current  of  their  talk 
soon  led  them  to  duels,  the  galleys,  law-courts,  prisons, 
and  the  reform  of  the  criminal  code,  from  whence  they 
wandered  far  away  from  Jacques  Collin  and  Victorine 
and  her  brother.  Although  there  were  but  ten  of  them, 
they  made  noise  enough  for  twenty,  and  gave  the  im- 


256  Pere  G-oriot. 

pression  of  being  more  in  number  than  usual,  —  which 
was  the  only  apparent  difference  between  the  dinner  of 
to-day  and  the  dinners  of  other  days.  The  habitual 
insouciance  of  that  devil-may-care  world  of  Paris, 
which  each  day  gluts  its  maw  with  the  events  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours,  resumed  its  sway ,  and  even 
Madame  Vauquer  permitted  herself  to  listen  to  the 
voice  of  hope,  —  that  divinity  being  represented  by 
the  fat  Sylvie. 


Pere  Goriot.  257 


XV. 

THIS  day  was  destined  to  be,  from  morning  till  night, 
a  phantasmagoria  to  Eugene,  who  in  spite  of  his  self- 
command  and  his  strength  of  mind  could  not  collect 
his  scattered  senses  when  he  found  himself  in  the  coach 
beside  Pere  Goriot,  whose  babble  flowed  joyously  as 
from  a  fount  of  unexampled  happiness,  sounding  in 
Eugene's  ears,  after  so  many  emotions,  like  the  words 
of  a  dream  :  — 

"  We  finished  our  work  this  morning.  "We  are  all 
three  to  dine  together, — together,  do  you  understand? 
It  is  four  years  since  I  last  dined  with  Delphine,  — 
my  own  little  Delphine !  I  shall  be  there  all  the  eve- 
ning. We  have  been  at  your  rooms  since  the  morning. 
I  have  been  working  like  a  day-laborer,  coat  off.  I 
helped  to  bring  in  the  furniture.  —  Ah !  ah !  you 
don't  know  how  charming  she  can  be  at  the  head  of  a 
table.  She  will  look  after  me.  She  will  say,  '  Come, 
Papa,  eat  some  of  this  —  it  is  good ! '  and  then  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  swallow  a  mouthful.  Oh  !  it  is  so  long 
since  I  have  spent  an  evening  with  her ;  but  the  happy 
time  is  coming ! " 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Eugene,  "  the  world  seems  upside 
down." 

"  Upside  down !  "  exclaimed  Pere  Goriot.  "  Why, 
it  never  seemed  to  me  so  right-side-up  before.  I  see 
17 


258  Pere  Cf-oriot. 

none  but  happy  faces  in  the  streets ;  everybody  seems 
to  be  shaking  hands ;  some  people  are  hugging  each 
other;  men  look  as  gay  as  if  they  were  all  going  to 
dine  with  their  daughters,  and  gobble  down  the  good 
dinner  I  heard  her  order  from  the  chef  at  the  Cafe 
Anglais.  But,  bah !  what  matter  ?  Sitting  beside  her, 
aloes  would  taste  as  sweet  as  honey." 

"  Am  I  coming  to  life  again  ?  "  said  Eugene. 

"  Get  on  faster,  coachman,"  cried  Pere  Goriot,  letting 
down  the  front  glass  of  the  carriage.  "  Drive  faster ! 
I  will  give  you  five  francs  drink-money  if  you  get  me 
there  in  ten  minutes." 

On  hearing  this  promise,  the  man  dashed  across  Paris 
at  break-neck  speed. 

"  The  fellow  crawls,"  cried  Goriot. 

"  But  where  are  you  taking  me  ?  "  asked  Rastignac. 

"  To  your  own  rooms,"  said  Pere  Goriot. 

The  carriage  stopped  in  the  Rue  d'Artois.  The  old 
man  got  out  first,  and  flung  ten  francs  to  the  coachman 
with  the  prodigality  of  a  widower  in  the  first  flush  of 
his  release. 

"  Come  !  let  us  go  upstairs,"  he  said  to  Rastignac, 
marshalling  him  across  the  courtyard  and  taking  him  to 
an  appartement  on  the  third  floor,  in  the  rear  of  a  new 
and  handsome  building.  Pere  Goriot  had  no  need  to 
ring  the  bell.  Therese,  Madame  de  Nucingen's  wait- 
ing-woman, opened  the  door,  and  Eugene  found  him- 
self in  a  charming  bachelor  establishment,  consisting 
of  an  ante-chamber,  a  little  salon,  a  bed-room,  and  a 
dressing-room  looking  out  upon  a  garden.  In  the  little 
salon,  whose  furniture  and  decorations  would  have 
borne  comparison  with  everything  beautiful  and  grace- 


Pere  Goriot.  259 

ful  of  its  kind,  be  saw  Delphine  by  the  soft  light  of 
wax-candles,  who  rose  from  a  couch  by  the  fire  and, 
laying  the  hand-screen  she  had  been  using  on  the 
chimney-piece,  said  in  a  voice  full  of  tenderness,  "  So 
you  had  to  be  sent  for, — Monsieur,  who  is  so  dull  of 
comprehension  ! " 

Therese  left  the  room.  Eugene  took  Delphine  in 
his  arms,  and  as  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart  tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  The  contrast  between  what  he  saw  and 
what  he  had  so  lately  seen  overwhelmed  him,  and  the 
emotions  of  this  strange  day,  when  so  much  had  wea- 
ried his  spirit  and  confused  hi.s  brain,  brought  on  a  rush 
of  nervous  agitation. 

"I  knew  all  along  how  he  felt,"  whispered  Pere 
Goriot  to  his  daughter,  while  Eugene  lay  back  upon  a 
sofa  unable  to  say  a  word,  or  to  explain  why  this  last 
wave  of  the  magic  wand  had  so  powerfully  affected  him. 

"  Come  and  see  your  rooms,"  said  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen,  after  a  pause,  taking  his  hand  and  leading  him 
through  the  pretty  appartement,  where  the  carpets,  the 
furniture,  and  all  the  lesser  decorations  were  of  the 
same  style,  in  miniature,  as  those  of  Delphine's  own 
rooms. 

"  We  will  keep  our  happiness  a  secret  from  all 
except  ourselves,"  she  whispered,  smiling. 

"Yes,  but  I  must  have  my  share  in  it,"  said  Pere 
Goriot. 

"  You  know  you  are  included  :  ourselves  means 
you,  too." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  what  I  wanted  you  to  say.  You  will 
not  think  me  in  the  way,  will  you  ?  I  shall  come  and 
go  like  some  good  spirit,  always  at  hand,  though  he 


260  Pere  Goriot. 

does  not  make  himself  known. —  Well,  my  Delphi- 
nette,  Ninette,  Dedel !  was  I  not  right  to  tell  you  of 
this  pretty  little  appartement,  and  to  say,  'Let  us 
furnish  it  for  him '  ?  At  first  you  did  not  like  the 
idea.  It  is  I  who  planned  all  this  pleasure.  Fathers 
should  give  their  children  everything,  just  as  they 
gave  them  life.  Give  all,  give  ever,  —  that  is  a  father's 
motto." 

"  Have  we  guessed  what  you  like  best  ?  "  said  Del- 
phine  to  Eugene  as  they  came  back  into  the  salon. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "only  too  well.  Alas!  the  luxury 
of  these  rooms  is  complete ;  my  every  dream  is  real- 
ized. The  poetry  of  such  a  life,  so  fresh,  so  elegant,  — 
I  feel  it  all !  But  I  cannot  accept  it  from  you,  and  I 
am  too  poor  as  yet  —  " 

"  Ah !  would  you  dare  to  cross  me  already  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  a  mock  air  of  authority,  making  one  of 
those  pretty  grimaces  by  which  women  try  to  laugh 
away  a  scruple.  But  Eugene  had  that  day  too  sol- 
emnly interrogated  his  conscience,  —  the  arrest  of  Vau- 
trin,  revealing  the  horrible  abyss  into  which  he  had  so 
nearly  plunged,  —  had  too  powerfully  forced  his  mind 
back  to  thoughts  of  duty  and  delicacy,  to  let  him  now 
yield  to  her  caressing  assault  upon  his  scruples.  A 
profound  sadness  came  over  him. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cried  Madame  de  Nucingen,  "  that 
you  refuse  me?  Do  you  kno\v  all  that  such  a  refusal 
means?  It  means  that  you  doubt  the  future,  that 
you  doubt  me,  or  that  you  fear  to  be  false  yourself 
to  my  affection.  If  you  love  me  and  if  I  love  you, 
why  do  you  draw  back  and  refuse  such  trifling  obliga- 
tions ?  If  you  knew  the  pleasure  I  have  had  in  pre- 


Pere  Goriot.  2G1 

paring  these  rooms  for  you,  you  would  not  hesitate ; 
you  would  beg  ray  pardon  for  the  very  thought  of 
refusing  me.  Besides,  you  must  remember  that  I  have 
money  of  yours  :  I  have  laid  it  out  to  the  best  advan- 
tage,—  that  is  all.  You  fancy  that  your  refusal  is  a 
proof  of  highmindedness :  it  is  the  contrary.  Oh, 
Papa !  give  him  good  reasons  why  he  should  not  refuse 
us,"  she  exclaimed  after  a  pause,  turning  to  her  father. 
"  Does  he  think  I  would  be  less  fastidious  than  him- 
self on  a  point  of  honor?  " 

Pere  Goriot  listened  to  this  dispute  with  the  ab- 
sorbed smile  of  an  Oriental  snake-charmer. 

"  Child  that  you  are,  reflect !  "  continued  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  taking  Eugene's  hand.  "You  stand  on  the 
threshold  of  life ;  between  you  and  success  there  lies 
a  barrier  insurmountable  for  most  young  men,  —  the 
barrier  of  poverty,  of  obscurity ;  the  hand  of  a  woman 
removes  it,  and  you  draw  back !  You  will  succeed ; 
you  will  make  a  brilliant  future  ;  I  read  success  upon 
your  brow.  When  this  comes  to  pass,  can  you  not  pay 
back  to  me  what  I  lend  you  now?  In  olden  times 
ladies  gave  to  their  knights  armor  and  swords  and 
helmets,  coats  of  mail  and  horses,  that  they  might 
fight  at  tournaments  and  win  them  honor.  Eugene, 
the  things  I  offer  you  are  the  arms  of  the  nineteenth 
century  ;  tools  essential  to  the  man  who  wishes  to  rise 
above  his  fellows.  Ah ! "  she  added,  "  the  garret 
where  you  live  must  be  sumptuous,  if  it  is  anything 
like  Papa's !  Do  you  wish  to  make  me  miserable  ? 
Answer  !  "  she  said,  slightly  shaking  his  hand.  "  Mon 
Dieu,  Papa !  make  him  accept,  or  I  will  go  away  and 
never  let  him  see  me  again." 


262  Pere  Goriot. 

"  I  can  settle  it,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  coming  out  of 
his  trance.  "My  dear  Monsieur  Eugene,  you  would 
be  glad  no  doubt  to  borrow  money  from  the  Jews, 
wouldn't  you?" 

"  I  must,"  he  replied. 

t(  Very  good ;  now,  then,  I  have  you,"  said  the  old 
man,  drawing  out  a  shabby  leather  pocket-book.  "I 
am  your  Jew.  I  have  paid  all  the  bills,  and  here  they 
are.  Not  a  sou  is  owing  for  anything  in  this  apparte- 
ment.  The  furniture  did  not  cost  a  great  deal,  —  at 
most  five  thousand  francs.  I  lend  you  that  sum.  You 
won't  refuse  me  ;  I  am  not  a  woman.  You  can  write 
me  an  acknowledgment  upon  a  scrap  of  paper,  and 
repay  me  some  of  these  days." 

Delphine  and  Eugene  looked  at  each  other  in  aston- 
ishment, and  tears  filled  their  eyes.  The  student  took 
the  hand  of  the  old  man  and  pressed  it  warmly. 

"  Why,  you  need  not  think  so  much  of  it ;  are  you 
not  both  my  children  ?  "  said  Goriot. 

"  But,  my  poor  Father,  how  did  you  manage  it  ?"  said 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"  Ah  !  now  you  want  me  to  tell  you  all,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Well,  after  I  had  persuaded  you  to  let 
him  live  here,  and  I  saw  you  buying  things  fit  for  a 
bride,  I  said,  '  She  will  find  herself  in  trouble  about 
the  money.'  My  lawyer  tells  me  the  suit  against  your 
husband  cannot  be  settled  for  six  months.  It  can 
wait.  I  have  sold  out  my  securities,  that  brought  me 
in  thirteen  hundred  and  fifty  francs  a  year.  With 
fifteen  thousand  francs  of  the  capital  I  have  bought 
an  annuity  of  twelve  hundred  francs,  and  I  have  paid 
these  bills  with  the  remainder,  my  children.  I  have  a 


Pere  G-oriot.  263 

bedroom  here  which  will  cost  only  a  hundred  and 
fifty  francs  a  year,  and  I  can  live  like  a  prince  on  forty 
sous  a  day  and  have  something  left  over.  I  hardly 
ever  wear  out  my  clothes,  and  I  shall  never  need  any 
new  ones.  For  a  fortnight  past  I  have  been  laughing 
in  my  sleeve,  saying  to  myself,  '  How  happy  we  shall 
be ! '  Was  I  not  right  ?  —  are  you  not  happy  ?  " 

"Oh,  Papa,  Papa!"  cried  Madame  de  Nucingen, 
springing  into  the  arms  of  her  father,  who  placed  her 
tenderly  on  his  knee.  She  covered  him  with  kisses ; 
her  blonde  hair  touched  his  cheeks  as  she  shed  tears 
upon  the  aged  face  all  glowing  now  with  happiness. 
"  Dear  Father,  —  you  are  indeed  a  father.  No  !  there 
is  not  another  father  in  the  world  like  you.  Eugene! 
you  loved  him  before,  but  you  will  love  him  better 
now." 

"Why,  my  children,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  who  for 
six  years  had  not  felt  a  daughter's  heart  against  his 
bosom  ;  "  my  Delphinette,  do  you  want  to  kill  me 
with  joy  ?  My  poor  heart  cannot  bear  it.  Ah  !  Eu- 
gene, the  debt  is  repaid  already  !  " 

And  the  old  man  pressed  his  daughter  to  his  heart 
with  an  embrace  so  frantic  that  she  cried  out,  "  Oh ! 
you  hurt  me." 

"  Hurt  you  !  "  he  said,  turning  pale.  He  looked  at 
her  with  an  expression  of  anguish.  "  No,  no !  I  could 
not  hurt  you,"  gently  kissing  the  waist  his  arm  had 
pressed  too  roughly.  "  It  was  you  who  hurt  me  by 
that  cry  of  pain.  —  The  furniture  cost  more  than  I 
told  him,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear ;  "  but  we  must 
deceive  him  a  little,  or  we  shall  not  be  able  to  manage 
him." 


264  Pere  Goriot. 

Eugene,  amazed  at  the  inexhaustible  self-devotion 
of  Pere  Goriot,  gazed  at  him  with  a  naive  admiration 
which  in  the  young  expresses  implicit  faith. 

"  I  will  make  myself  worthy  of  such  goodness ! " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  my  Eugene,  those  words  are  noble  ! "  and  Ma- 
dame de  Nucingen  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

"  For  thy  sake  he  refused  Mademoiselle  Taillefer 
and  her  millions,"  said  Pere  Goriot.  "Yes,  the  little 
girl  was  fond  of  him ;  her  brother  is  dead,  and  she  is 
as  rich  as  Croesus." 

"Do  not  say  that!"  cried  Rastignac. 

"  Eugene,"  whispered  Madame  de  Nucingen.  "  I 
have  now  a  regret  to  mar  my  happiness ;  but  I  will 
love  you  the  better  for  it  —  and  forever." 

"  This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life  since  your  mar- 
riages," cried  Pere  Goriot.  "I  am  willing  to  suffer 
all  that  it  may  please  God  to  send  me,  so  long  as  it 
does  not  come  through  my  children.  As  long  as  I  live 
I  shall  say  to  myself,  '  In  February,  1820,  there  was  a 
day  when  I  was  happier  than  other  men  are  in  a  life- 
time ! '  Look  at  me,  Fifine,"  he  said  to  his  daughter. 
"  Ah !  is  she  not  lovely  ?  Tell  me,  where  can  you 
find  another  little  woman  with  such  a  skin,  and  such 
pretty  dimples?  She  is  mine,  —  I  made  her,  the  little 
darling !  Ah !  my  friend,  be  good  to  her,  make  her 
happy,  and  I  will  reward  you.  If  there  were  but  one 
chance  to  go  to  heaven  and  I  had  got  it,  I  would  give 
it  to  you.  But,  come  !  let  us  dine,  —  let  us  dine,"  he 
said,  as  if  beside  himself.  "All  is  ours." 

«  Poor  Father !  " 

"  Ah !  my  child,"  he  added,  taking  her  head  between 


Pere  Goriot.  265 

his  hands,  and  kissing  her  hair;  "  you  make  my  heaven 
here.  Come  and  see  me  often ;  my  room  is  close  by ; 
you  have  not  far  to  go.  Come  often  ;  promise  me,  — 
say  that  you  promise  it." 

"  Yes,  dear  Father." 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  Yes,  my  good  Father." 

"Hush,  now!  for  I  should  make  you  say  it  a  hun- 
dred times  if  I  thought  of  myself  only.  Let  us  dine." 

The  evening  was  spent  in  tender  child's  play  such 
as  this,  —  Pere  Goriot  not  the  least  childish  of  the 
three.  He  sat  at  his  daughter's  feet  and  kissed  them  ; 
he  gazed  into  her  eyes ;  he  laid  his  head  upon  her  dress. 
He  was  guilty  of  a  thousand  follies,  like  a  lover  with 
his  first  love. 

"You  see  now,"  whispered  Delphine  to  Eugene, 
"  that  when  my  father  is  here  he  exacts  all  my  atten- 
tion. It  will  often  be  very  troublesome." 

Eugene,  who  had  already  felt  some  twinges  of  jeal- 
ousy, could  not  exactly  blame  this  speech,  although  it 
breathed  the  quintessence  of  ingratitude. 

"  When  will  the  appartement  be  finished?  "  he  asked, 
looking  round  him.  "  Must  we  leave  it  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  to-morrow  you  dine  with  me :  it  is  the 
opera  night,  you  remember." 

"  I  shall  go  and  sit  in  the  pit,"  said  Pere  Goriot. 

It  was  now  midnight  ;  Madame  de  Nucingen's  car- 
riage was  waiting.  Pere  Goriot  and  Eugene  walked 
back  to  the  Maison  Vauquer,  talking  of  Delphine  on 
the  way  with  an  enthusiasm  that  revealed  a  curious 
contrast  of  expression  in  the  two  individual  passions. 


266  Pere  Goriot.    . 

Eugene  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  the  father's 
love,  stained  by  no  selfish  interest,  crushed  his  out  of 
sight  by  its  vehemence  and  grandeur.  To  the  father 
the  idol  was  all  purity  and  goodness,  and  his  adora- 
tion was  nourished  as  much  by  recollections  of  the 
past  as  by  his  visions  of  the  future. 

They  found  Madame  Vauquer  sitting  over  the  stove 
with  Christophe  and  Sylvie  on  either  side  of  her,  like 
Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Cartilage.  She  was  wait- 
ing for  the  two  who  were  to-night  her  sole  lodgers,  and 
bemoaning  herself  to  Sylvie.  Though  Lord  Byron 
puts  very  beautiful  lamentations  into  the  mouth  of 
Tasso,  they  have  not  the  ring  of  truth  which  vibrated 
in  those  now  proceeding  from  the  lips  of  the  unfortu- 
nate landlady. 

"  Only  three  cups  of  coffee  to  make  to-morrow, 
Sylvie  !  Is  not  my  empty  house  enough  to  break  my 
heart  ?  Alas !  what  will  life  be  to  me  without  my 
lodgers?  Nothing.  My  house  is  desolate,  deserted 
by  its  men.  They  were  its  furniture.  What  is  life 
without  furniture?  What  have  I  done  that  Heaven 
should  send  me  these  misfortunes?  We  laid  in  pota- 
toes and  beans,  —  yes,  beans  enough  for  twenty  people. 
The  police  in  my  house  !  —  Must  we  eat  nothing  but 
potatoes?  I  shall  send  Christophe  away." 

The  Savoyard,  who  was  asleep,  woke  up  on  hearing 
his  name  and  said,  "  Madame  ?  " 

"Poor  fellow!  he  is  as  faithful  as  a  dog,"  said 
Sylvie. 

"  A  lost  season  !  People  are  housed.  Can  lodgers 
drop  from  heaven  ?  I  shall  lose  my  senses.  And  that 
witch  of  a  Michonneau,  to  have  carried  off  Poiret ! 


Pere  Goriot.  267 

How  did  she  get  such  a  grip  on  the  man  ?    He  fol- 
lows her  about  like  a  puppy-dog." 

"Bah!"  said  Sylvie,  shaking  her  head.  "Those 
old  maids!  they  know  the  tricks  of  things." 

"That  poor  Monsieur  Vautrin,  whom  they  turned 
into  a  convict!  "  resumed  the  widow.  "Well,  Sylvie, 
it  is  too  much  for  me ;  I  can't  believe  it  yet.  A  man 
as  gay  as  he,  who  drank  his  gloria  at  fifteen  francs  a 
month,  and  paid  on  the  nail ! " 

"  And  who  was  generous,  too,"  remarked  Christophe. 

"  There 's  some  mistake,"  said  Sylvie. 

"  No,  there  can't  be.  He  owned  it  himself,"  said 
Madame  Vauquer.  "  And  to  think  that  all  these  things 
happened  here  in  this  neighborhood,  where  even  the 
cats  don't  come !  I  must  be  dreaming,  it  can't  be  pos- 
sible !  We  saw  Louis  XVI.  meet  with  his  accident ; 
we  saw  the  fall  of  the  Emperor;  we  saw  him  come 
back  and  fall  again,  —  all  that  belonged  to  the  order 
of  possible  things.  But  there  are  no  such  hap-hazards 
about  pensions.  People  can  get  along  without  a  king, 
but  they  must  have  breakfast  and  dinner ;  and  when 
an  honest  woman,  nee  de  Conflans,  gives  dinners,  with 
all  sorts  of  good  things,  unless  the  very  end  of  the 
world  should  come  —  but  that's  what  it  is ;  it  is  the 
end  of  the  world ! " 

"  And  to  think  that  that  Michonneau,  who  has  done 
all  the  mischief,  is  to  receive,  they  say,  three  thousand 
francs  a  year!"  cried  Sylvie. 

"Don't  mention  her  to  me !  she  is  a  wicked  woman," 
cried  Madame  Vauquer;  "and  she  has  gone  off  to 
Buneaud's :  she  is  capable  of  anything.  She  must 
have  done  horrible  things  in  her  lifetime, — robbed, 


268  Pere  Goriot. 

murdered,  no  doubt.  She  ought  to  have  gone  to  the 
galleys,  instead  of  that  poor,  dear  man  —  " 

At  this  moment  Eugene  and  Pere  Goriot  rang  the 
bell. 

"  Ah !  there  are  my  two  faithful  ones,"  said  the 
widow,  with  a  sigh. 

The  faithful  pair,  who  at  that  moment  had  but 
slight  remembrance  of  the  disasters  of  the  pension, 
unceremoniously  announced  to  their  landlady  that  they 
were  to  leave  her  on  the  following  day  and  take  up 
their  quarters  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin. 

"  Sylvie ! "  cried  the  widow.  "  My  last  trump  is 
gone  !  Gentlemen,  you  have  given  me  my  death-blow. 
It  has  pierced  to  my  vitals,  —  I  feel  it  there.  This  day 
has  laid  the  weight  of  years  upon  my  head.  I  shall 
go  mad,  —  upon  my  word,  I  shall !  What  can  be 
done  with  the  beans  ?  I  am  left  desolate.  You  shall 
go  to-morrow,  Christophe.  Good  night,  gentlemen,  — 
good  night." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  "  said  Eugene  to 
Sylvie. 

"  Oh,  Lord !  everybody  has  left  the  house  because 
of  what  happened  this  morning.  It  has  upset  her 
head.  There !  I  hear  her  crying ;  it  will  do  her 
good  to  blubber  a  bit.  This  is  the  first  time  I  've 
known  her  to  wet  her  eyes  since  I  have  lived  with 
her." 

The  next  morning  Madame  Vauquer  s'etait  rai- 
sonnee,  as  she  expressed  it,  —  that  is,  she  had  come  to 
her  senses  ;  and  though  afflicted  as  a  woman  might 
well  be  who  had  lost  all  her  lodgers,  and  whose  life 
was  suddenly  turned  topsy-turvy,  she  had  her  wits 


Pere  Goriot.  269 

about  her,  and  displayed  no  more  than  a  reasonable 
grief  caused  by  such  sudden  disasters.  The  glances 
that  a  lover  casts  upon  the  sacred  places  of  a  lost  mis- 
tress were  not  less  moving  than  those  with  which  she 
now  looked  round  her  deserted  table.  Eugene  tried 
to  comfort  her  with  the  idea  that  Bianchon,  whose 
term  at  the  hospital  was  to  end  in  a  few  days,  might 
step  into  his  vacant  room ;  and  told  her  that  the  em- 
ploye at  the  Museum  had  frequently  been  heard  to 
wish  for  the  appartement  of  Madame  Couture ;  and 
that  no  doubt  in  a  few  days  the  house  would  be  full 
again. 

"  Heaven  grant  it,  my  dear  Monsieur  Eugene  !  But 
misfortune  has  come  to  my  roof:  before  ten  days  are 
gone,  death  will  be  here.  You  will  see,"  she  added, 
casting  a  lugubrious  glance  around  the  dining-room. 
"Which  of  us  will  he  summon?" 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  we  had  better  be  off,"  whis- 
pered Eugene  to  Pere  Goriot. 

"  Madame ! "  cried  Sylvie,  bursting  in  excitedly.  "  I 
have  not  seen  Mistigris  for  three  days ! " 

"  Ah !  if  my  cat  is  dead ;  if  he  too  has  left  me, 
I  —  " 

The  poor  woman  could  not  finish  her  sentence.  She 
clasped  her  hands  and  threw  herself  back  in  her  arm- 
chair, overwhelmed  by  this  ominous  loss. 

Toward  noon,  the  time  of  day  when  postmen  make 
their  rounds  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Pantheon, 
Eugene  received  a  letter  in  an  elegant  envelope,  sealed 
with  the  arms  of  Beauseant.  It  inclosed  an  invitation 
addressed  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Nucingen,  for 


270  Pere  Goriot. 

a  ball  about  to  be  given  by  the  viscountess,  which 
had  been  announced  for  some  weeks.  A  little  note  to 
Eugene  accompanied  the  invitation  :  — 

I  think,  Monsieur,  that  you  will  undertake  with  pleasure  to 
interpret  my  sentiments  to  Madame  de  Nucingen.  I  send  you 
the  invitation  you  asked  of  me,  and  shall  be  delighted  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  sister  of  Madame  de  Restaud. 
Come  to  my  ball,  and  bring  that  charming  lady  with  you ; 
but  do  not  let  her  absorb  all  your  affection.  You  owe  me  a 
little,  in  return  for  that  which  I  feel  for  you. 

VlCOMTESSE   DE   BEATJSEANT. 

"  Well,"  said  Eugene,  reading  this  note  for  the  sec- 
ond time,  "  Madame  de  Beauseant  tells  me  plainly  that 
she  does  not  wish  to  see  the  Baron  de  Nucingen." 

He  went  at  once  to  Delphine's,  delighted  that  he 
had  it  in  his  power  to  bestow  a  pleasure  of  which  no 
doubt  he  would  reap  the  reward.  Madame  de  Nu- 
cingen was  in  her  bath ;  and  Rastignac  waited  for  her 
with  the  eager  impatience  of  his  years,  and  in  the 
grasp  of  emotions  which  are  given  but  once  to  the 
lives  of  young  people.  The  first  woman  to  whom  a 
man  attaches  himself,  if  she  appears  to  him  in  all  the 
splendors  of  Parisian  life,  need  fear  no  rival.  Love 
in  Paris  is  not  the  love  of  other  regions.  Neither 
men  nor  women  are  there  duped  by  the  time-worn 
ideas  which  all  display  like  banners,  for  the  sake  of  de- 
cency, over  affections  calling  themselves  disinterested. 
In  Paris,  a  woman  seeks  to  be  loved  not  only  for  her 
charms,  but  for  all  the  satisfactions  she  can  give  to  the 
social  ambitions  of  her  lover ;  she  knows  that  she  must 
gratify  the  thousand  vanities  which  make  up  life  in 


Pcre  Goriot.  271 

the  great  world.  In  that  world,  Love  is  braggart, 
spendthrift,  gayly  deceitful,  and  ostentatious.  If  the 
women  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  envied  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valliere  the  ardor  which  caused  that  mighty 
prince  to  forget  the  fabulous  cost  of  the  ruffles  which 
he  tore  in  facilitating  the  entrance  of  the  Due  de  Ver- 
mandois  into  the  world,  what  can  be  expected  of  a 
lesser  humanity  ?  Be  young  and  rich  and  titled,  ye 
Parisian  lovers !  Be  something  better,  if  you  can. 
The  more  incense  you  burn  before  your  idol,  if  idol 
you  have,  the  more  that  deity  will  bend  a  favorable 
ear.  Love  is  here  an  idolatry,  —  his  rites  more  costly 
far  than  those  of  any  other  worship;  he  flits  and  van- 
ishes like  an  imp,  delighting  to  leave  his  path  marked 
out  by  havoc.  True  passion  is  the  poetry  of  garrets ; 
without  it,  could  the  vestal  flame  of  love  be  kept 
alive  ?  Exceptions  to  the  laws  of  this  Draconian  code 
of  Paris  maybe  found  in  oases  of  that  wilderness. — 
in  hearts  not  led  astray  by  social  theories,  that  dwell 
retired  near  some  fount  of  purity,  some  ever-bubbling 
spring  of  living  waters,  where,  faithful  to  these  quiet 
shades,  they  listen  to  the  teachings  of  the  Infinite 
written  for  their  learning  on  all  things,  even  their  own 
hearts,  patiently  waiting  to  rise  on  wings  of  angels, 
and  compassionating  the  earth-bound  tendencies  of 
the  world  about  them. 

Rastignac,  like  other  young  men  who  begin  life 
among  the  traditions  of  rank,  expected  to  enter  the 
lists  fully  equipped.  He  had  caught  the  fever  of  the 
world  and  thought  himself  able  to  master  it,  without 
in  truth  understanding  the  means  or  the  ends  of  his 
ambition.  When  the  heart  finds  no  pure  and  sacred 


272  Pere  Goriot. 

love  to  fill  its  cup  of  life,  a  draught  of  mere  success 
may  have  its  value  ;  nay,  the  thirst  for  power  is  glori- 
ous when,  stripped  of  personal  ambition,  it  takes  the 
form  of  patriotism.  But  Rastignac  had  by  no  means 
reached  the  heights  whence  men  may  contemplate  the 
course  of  life  and  form  a  judgment  on  it.  As  yet  he 
had  not  wholly  shaken  off  those  fresh  sweet  theories 
and  dreams  which  enfold  young  people  brought  up  in 
country  solitudes,  as  the  green  calyx  does  the  bud.  Up 
to  this  time  he  had  hesitated  to  cross  the  Parisian  rubi- 
con.  In  spite  of  his  ardent  curiosity,  he  clung  to  the 
traditions  of  the  noble  life  led  by  men  of  breeding  in 
their  ancient  manors.  Nevertheless,  his  last  scruples 
vanished  the  night  before,  as  he  stood  in  his  new  rooms 
in  the  Rue  d'Artois.  There,  coming  into  possession 
of  the  material  advantages  of  wealth,  in  addition  to  his 
natural  advantages  of  rank  and  family,  he  stripped  off 
the  skin  of  a  country  gentleman  and  slid  with  ease  into 
the  new  circumstances  which  his  ambition  told  him 
would  lead  to  fortune.  As  he  waited  for  Delphine, 
luxuriously  seated  in  her  pretty  boudoir,  he  seemed  so 
far  removed  from  the  Rastignac  of  the  year  before,  that 
as  he  looked  at  himself  with  the  moral  optics  of  his 
own  mind  he  wondered  if  he  were  indeed  the  same. 

"  Madame  will  see  you,"  said  Therese,  whose  voice 
startled  him. 

He  found  Delphine  on  a  couch  beside  the  fire,  fresh 
and  restful.  As  she  lay  back  in  her  muslin  draperies, 
it  was  impossible  not  to  compare  her  to  one  of  those 
oriental  plants  whose  fruit  comes  with  the  flower. 

"  At  last  we  are  together,"  she  said  with  some 
e:notion. 


Pere  Goriot.  273 

"  Guess  what  I  bring  you,"  said  Eugene,  sitting 
down  beside  her  and  lifting  her  arm  that  he  might 
kiss  her  hand. 

Madame  de  Nucingen  made  a  gesture  of  delight  as 
she  read  the  invitation;  and  turning  to  Eugene  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  drew  him  down  to  her  in  a  delirium  of  gratified 
vanity. 

"  And  it  is  you  to  whom  I  owe  this  happiness ! " 
she  said.  "  Obtained  by  you,  it  is  more  than  a  triumph 
of  self-love.  No  one  has  ever  been  willing  till  now  to 
introduce  me  into  that  charmed  circle.  Perhaps  you 
think  me  at  this  moment  as  frivolous  and  light-minded 
as  any  other  Parisian  ;  but  remember,  my  friend,  I  am 
yours,  and  if  I  wish  more  than  ever  to  enter  the 
society  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  it  is  because 
that  society  is  yours." 

"Do  you  not  think,"  said  Engene,  "that  Madame 
de  Beauseant  intimates  pretty  plainly  that  she  does 
not  wish  to  see  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  at  her  ball?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Delphine,  returning  the  note  to 
Eugene  ;  "  those  great  ladies  have  a  genius  for  imper- 
tinence. But  no  matter ;  I  shall  go.  My  sister  is  to 
be  there.  I  know  she  has  ordered  a  bewitching  dress 
for  the  occasion.  Eugene,"  she  resumed,  in  a  low 
voice,  "she  wants  to  appear  at  that  ball  in  all  her 
glory,  that  she  may  give  the  lie  to  dreadful  rumors. 
You  don't  know  what  things  are  said  about  her.  Nu- 
cingen told  me  this  morning  that  they  talked  of  her  at 
the  club,  and  handled  her  without  mercy.  Ah,  mon 
Dieu!  upon  how  slight  a  thread  hangs  the  honor  of  a 
woman !  —  and  her  family  as  well,  for  I  feel  myself 
18 


274  Pere  Goriot. 

involved  in  these  attacks  upon  my  poor  sister.  They 
say  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles  has  given  notes  to  the 
amount  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  ;  that  these  have 
gone  to  protest,  and  that  he  has  even  been  in  danger 
of  arrest.  In  this  extremity,  so  they  say,  my  sister 
has  sold  her  diamonds  to  a  Jew,  —  those  beautiful  dia- 
monds which  you  have  seen  her  wear,  heir-looms  be- 
longing to  the  Restaud  family.  I  am  told  that  for  two 
days  nothing  else  has  been  talked  of.  I  understand 
now  why  Anastasie  has  ordered  a  dress  of  gold  tissue  : 
she  means  to  attract  all  eyes  at  Madame  de  Beauseant's 
by  appearing  in  a  superb  toilette,  and  wearing  the  dia- 
monds. But  she  shall  not  outshine  me  !  She  has  al- 
ways tried  to  crush  me  ;  she  was  never  kind  to  me, 
though  I  have  done  much  for  her,  —  I  have  even  lent 
her  money  when  she  was  in  trouble.  But  do  not  let 
us  talk  about  her  now.  To-day  I  wish  to  think  of 
nothing  but  happiness." 

Rastignac  did  not  leave  Madame  de  Nucingen  till  an 
hour  after  midnight.  As  she  bade  him  farewell  she 
said,  with  a  tone  and  expression  of  melancholy,  "  I  am 
timid,  superstitious  !  Call  my  presentiments  foolish  if 
you  will,  but  I  feel  as  if  some  terrible  catastrophe  were 
hanging  over  me." 

"  Child  !  "  said  Eugene. 

"Ah!  it  is  I  who  am  the  child  to-night,"  she  an- 
swered laughing. 

Rastignac  returned  to  the  Maison  Vauquer,  as  he  be- 
lieved, for  the  last  time ;  certain  of  quitting  it  forever 
the  next  day.  As  he  walked  along  he  surrendered 
himself  to  happy  dreams,  as  young  men  will  who  taste 
upon  their  lips  the  draught  of  joy. 


P£re  Goriot.  275 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Pere  Goriot,  as  Rastignac  passed  his 
door. 

"  Good  night,"  answered  Eugene  ;  "  I  will  tell  you  all 
to-morrow." 

"  Ah,  to-morrow !  "  cried  the  old  man.  "  Go  to  bed 
now,  and  good  night.  To-morrow  our  happy  life 
begins ! " 


276  Pere  Goriot. 


XVI. 

THE  next  morning  Goriot  and  Rastignac  were  wait- 
ing for  the  porters  to  remove  their  effects  to  the  Rue 
d'Artois,  when,  about  noon,  the  noise  of  an  equipage 
stopping  before  the  Maison  Vauquer  echoed  up  the 
Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve.  Madame  de  Nucingen 
got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  learning  from  Sylvie  that 
her  father  was  still  there,  ran  lightly  up  to  his  room. 
Eugene  was  in  his  own  chamber,  but  his  neighbor  did 
not  know  he  was  there.  At  breakfast  he  had  asked 
Pere  Goriot  to  attend  to  the  removal  of  his  luggage, 
promising  to  rejoin  him  at  four  o'clock  in  the  Rue 
d'Artois.  But  while  the  old  man  was  out  of  the  house 
searching  for  porters,  Eugene,  after  answering  to  his 
name  at  the  law-school,  returned  to  settle  his  account 
with  Madame  Vauquer,  not  wishing  to  leave  the  bill 
with  Goriot,  lest  the  old  man  in  his  enthusiasm  might 
insist  on  paying  it  for  him.  The  landlady  was  out, 
and  Eugene  ran  upstairs  to  make  sure  that  nothing  had 
been  left  behind ;  congratulating  himself  for  his  pre- 
caution when  he  found  in  a  table-drawer  the  accept- 
ance given  to  Vautrin,  which  he  had  carelessly  flung 
aside  at  the  time  when  he  paid  the  debt.  Not  having 
any  fire,  he  was  about  to  tear  it  into  little  pieces,  when 
his  hand  was  arrested  in  the  act  by  hearing  the  voice 
of  Delphine  in  Pere  Goriot's  chamber.  He  stopped 


Pere  Goriot.  277 

short  to  listen  to  what  she  was  saying,  confident  that 
she  could  have  no  secrets  from  him.  Then,  after  her 
first  words,  he  found  the  conversation  between  father 
and  daughter  too  deeply  interesting  to  resist  the  temp- 
tation of  hearing  more. 

"  Ah,  my  Father,"  Delphine  cried,  "  would  to  heaven 
you  had  interfered  about  my  fortune  in  time  to  save 
me  from  ruin  !  Can  I  speak  freely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  house  is  empty,"  said  Pere  Goriot  in  a 
strange  tone. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Father  ?  "  she  asked ; 
«  are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  you  had  struck  me  with  an  axe  upon 
my  head.  God  forgive  you,  darling  !  you  do  not 
understand  how  much  I  love  you,  or  you  would  not 
tell  me  bluntly  such  terrible  things,  —  especially  if  the 
case  is  not  desperate.  What  has  happened  ?  Why 
are  you  here  now,  when  in  half  an  hour  we  should  have 
been  in  the  Rue  d'Artois  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Father,  how  could  I  think  of  that  when  a 
great  catastrophe  has  befallen  me?  I  am  out  of  my 
senses.  Your  lawyer  has  brought  things  to  light 
which  we  must  have  known  sooner  or  later.  Your 
great  experience  in  business  is  now  my  only  hope,  and 
I  have  rushed  to  you  as  a  poor  drowning  creature 
catches  at  a  branch.  When  Monsieur  Derville  found 
that  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  was  opposing  him  with  all 
sorts  of  evasions  he  threatened  him  with  a  law-suit, 
saying  that  an  order  from  the  Court  for  such  a  pro- 
ceeding could  easily  be  obtained.  Nucingen  came  to 
my  room  this  morning  and  asked  me  if  I  was  bent  on 
his  ruin  and  mine.  I  answered  that  I  knew  nothing 


278  Pere  Cf-oriot. 

about  all  that ;  that  I  had  my  own  fortune  ;  that  I 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  spend  the  income  of  it  as  I 
pleased ;  that  all  business  in  connection  with  the  mat- 
ter was  in  the  hands  of  my  lawyer ;  and,  finally,  that 
I  was  totally  ignorant  on  such  matters,  and  did  not 
wish  to  discuss  them.  That  was  exactly  what  you 
advised  me  to  say,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  was  right,"  said  Pere  Goriot. 

"  Well,"  continued  Delphine,  "  then  he  told  me 
plainly  about  his  affairs.  He  has  embarked  all  his 
own  money  and  mine  in  speculations  that  have  not  yet 
matured,  in  furtherance  of  which  he  has  sent  great 
sums  of  money  to  other  countries.  If  I  force  him.  to 
account  for  my  fortune  now,  I  shall  oblige  him  to 
show  his  books  and  file  his  schedule ;  whereas  if  I 
will  wait  one  year,  he  promises  on  his  honor  to  double 
my  fortune  and  invest  the  whole  —  his  and  mine  —  in 
landed  property  which  shall  be  settled  on  me.  My 
dear  Father,  he  meant  what  he  said ;  he  frightened  me. 
He  asked  my  pardon  for  his  past  conduct.  He  gave 
me  back  my  liberty  ;  he  promised  not  to  interfere  with 
my  life  in  any  way  provided  I  would  agree  to  let  him 
manage  our  affairs  in  my  name.  He  promised,  as  a 
proof  of  his  good  faith,  that  I  should  call  in  Monsieur 
Derville  at  any  time  to  examine  the  legality  of  the 
papers  by  which  the  property  was  to  be  made  mine. 
In  short,  he  put  himself  into  my  power,  tied  hand  and 
foot.  He  wishes  for  the  next  two  years  to  keep  the 
expenditure  of  the  household  under  his  control,  and  he 
besought  me  to  spend  no  more  than  my  allowance  dur- 
ing that  pei'iod.  He  proved  to  me  that  he  is  doing  all 
he  can  to  save  appearances.  He  has  sent  away  his 


Pere  Goriot.  279 

danseuse,  and  is  going  to  practise  the  most  rigid  though 
quiet  economy,  so  that  he  may  come  safely  out  of  his 
speculations  without  impairing  his  credit.  I  answered 
him  as  unkindly  as  I  could.  I  appeared  to  doubt  him, 
so  that  by  pushing  him  to  extremities  I  might  force 
him  to  tell  me  everything.  He  showed  me  his  books ; 
and  at  last  he  burst  into  tears.  I  have  never  seen  a 
man  in  such  a  state.  He  lost  his  head  ;  he  talked  of 
killing  himself;  he  was  out  of  his  mind.  I  felt  for 
him." 

"  And  you  believed  him  ?"  cried  Pere  Goriot.  "  He 
was  playing  a  part.  They  were  lies.  I  know  what 
Germans  are  in  business.  They  seem  honest  and  open 
enough  ;  but  under  that  air  of  frankness  they  are 
shrexvd  and  cunning,  and  worse  to  deal  with  than  any 
others.  Your  husband  is  imposing  on  you.  He  finds 
himself  close-pressed,  and  feigns  death.  He  wants  to 
be  more  completely  master  of  your  fortune  under  your 
name  than  he  could  be  under  his  own.  He  will  make 
use  of  you  to  save  himself  in  the  event  of  business 
losses.  He  is  as  cunning  as  he  is  false.  He  is  a  bad 
fellow.  No,  no!  I  will  not  go  to  my  grave  leaving 
my  daughters  stripped  of  everything.  I  know  a  little 
about  business  still.  He  says  he  has  embarked  all  his 
capital  in  speculations.  Well,  then,  his  interest  in 
these  speculations  must  be  represented  by  stocks  or 
some  kind  of  securities.  Let  him  produce  them,  and 
allow  you  to  take  your  share.  We  will  choose  the  safest, 
and  run  our  chance.  We  will  have  all  the  papers  reg- 
istered under  the  name  of  Delphine  Goriot,  wife,  sepa- 
rated as  to  property  from  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 
Does  he  take  us  for  fools  ?  Does  he  suppose  I  would 


280  Pere  Groriot. 

patiently  permit  him,  were  it  only  for  a  day,  to  leave 
you  without  fortune?  Never!  not  for  a  day,  nor  a 
night,  — no,  not  for  two  hours!  If  such  a  thing  should 
come  to  pass  I  could  not  survive  it.  What !  have  I 
worked  for  forty  years  ;  have  I  carried  sacks  of  flour 
on  my  back  and  toiled  in  the  sweat  of  my  brow ;  have 
I  pinched  and  denied  myself  all  the  days  of  my  life 
for  you,  my  angels,  —  who  repaid  my  toil  and  lightened 
my  burden,  —  that  to-day  my  fortune  and  my  life 
should  pass  away  in  smoke?  I  should  die  raving 
mad !  By  all  that  is  sacred  in  heaven  and  earth  we 
will  drag  this  matter  to  the  light ;  we  will  examine 
into  his  books,  his  coffers,  his  speculations.  I  will  not 
sleep ;  I  will  not  lie  down  upon  my  bed  ;  I  will  not 
eat,  until  I  find  out  if  your  fortune  is  all  there. 
Thank  God  !  you  are  at  least  separated  as  to  property. 
You  shall  have  Monsieur  Derville  for  your  lawyer ;  he 
is  an  honest  man.  Heavens  and  earth !  you  shall 
have  your  poor  little  million  to  yourself,  —  you  shall 
have  your  fifty  thousand  francs  income  to  spend  as  you 
please  to  the  end  of  your  days,  —  or  I  will  make  such  a 
stir  in  Paris  —  Ha !  ha  !  I  will  appeal  to  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies,  if  the  law  courts  will  not  right  us. 
If  I  can  see  you  happy  and  at  ease  about  money  I 
shall  forget  my  own  sorrows.  Our  money  is  our  life  ; 
money  does  everything.  What  does  that  big  log  of 
an  Alsatian  mean  ?  Delphine,  don't  yield  a  farth- 
ing to  that  brute,  who  has  held  you  in  bondage  and 
made  you  miserable.  If  he  needs  your  help,  he  shall 
not  have  it  unless  we  can  tie  him  tight  and  make  him 
march  a  straight  line.  JUbn  Dieu  !  my  whole  head  is 
on  fire ;  there  are  flames  in  my  skull.  Think  of  my 


Pere  G-oriot.  281 

Delphine  being  brought  to  want!  Oh,  my  Fifine,  if 
that  should  happen  to  thee!  —  Sapristi!  where  is  my 
hat?  Come,  I  must  go  directly.  I  shall  insist  on 
looking  into  everything,  —  his  books,  his  business,  his 
correspondence.  We  will  go  this  moment.  I  cannot 
be  calm  until  it  is  proved  that  your  fortune  is  secure 
beyond  all  risks,  and  I  have  seen  it  with  my  own 
eyes ! " 

uMy  dear  Father,  you  must  set  about  it  cautiously. 
If  you  put  the  slightest  desire  for  vengeance  into  this 
affair,  if  you  even  show  hostile  feeling  to  my  husband, 
you  will  ruin  me.  He  knows  you;  he  thinks  it  nat- 
ural that  influenced  by  you  I  should  be  anxious  about 
my  fortune ;  but  I  swear  to  you,  he  has  it  in  his  power, 
and  he  means  to  keep  it  there.  He  is  capable  of  run- 
ning away  with  it,  and  leaving  me  without  a  sou.  He 
knows  I  would  not  dishonor  the  name  I  bear  by  bring- 
ing him  to  justice.  His  position  is  both  strong  and 
weak.  Indeed,  I  have  examined  into  it  all.  If  you 
push  him  to  extremities,  I  am  lost." 

" Is  he  dishonest?     Is  he  a  rogue  ?  " 

"Yes,  Father,  he  is,"  she  cried,  throwing  herself 
into  a  chair  and  bursting  into  tears.  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  acknowledge  it.  I  wished  to  spare  you  the  pain 
of  knowing  that  you  had  married  me  to  such  a  man. 
Vices  and  conscience,  body  and  soul,  —  all  are  in  keep- 
ing. It  is  terrible.  I  hate  him,  and  yet  I  despise  him. 
A  man  capable  of  flinging  himself  into  such  transac- 
tions as  he  has  confessed  to  me,  without  shame  or 
remorse,  fills  me  with  disgust.  My  fears  spring  from 
what  I  know  of  him.  He  offered  me — he,  my  hus- 
band !  —  my  full  liberty  (and  you  know  what  he  meant), 


282  Pere  Goriot. 

if  I  would  play  into  his  hands  ;  if  I  would  lend  my 
name  to  dishonorable  transactions,  under  cover  of 
which  he  can  escape  if  he  meets  with  losses." 

"But  there  are  laws!  There  is  the  guillotine  for 
such  men,"  exclaimed  Pere  Goriot. 

"  No,  Father,  there  are  no  laws  that  can  reach  him. 
Listen  to  what  he  told  me.  This  is  the  substance 
of  it,  stripped  of  his  circumlocutions :  '  Either  all  will 
be  lost,  and  you  will  not  have  a  farthing,  —  you  will 
be  ruined  ;  for  I  can  take  no  one  into  partnership  but 
yourself,  —  or  you  must  let  me  carry  out  my  specula- 
tions as  they  now  stand,  to  the  end.'  Is  that  plain 
speaking  ?  He  still  trusts  me.  He  knows  that  I  shall 
not  touch  his  fortune,  and  shall  be  satisfied  with  my 
own.  It  has  come  to  this,  —  either  I  must  enter  into 
a  repulsive  and  dishonest  partnership,  or  I  am  ruined. 
He  buys  my  complicity  in  his  crimes  by  giving  me  the 
liberty  to  live  as  I  please.  He  says,  '  I  will  take  no 
notice  of  your  faults,  if  you  will  not  prevent  my  plot- 
ting the  ruin  of  poor  people.'  Is  that  clear  ?  Do  you 
know  what  he  means  by  '  speculations '  ?  He  buys  un- 
improved land  in  his  own  name,  and  puts  forward  men 
of  straw  to  build  houses  on  the  land.  These  men  con- 
tract with  builders  on  an  agreement  for  long  credits ; 
and  afterwards,  for  a  nominal  sum,  they  make  over 
the  buildings  to  my  husband.  They  then  go  into  sham 
bankruptcy,  and  the  contractors  lose  everything.  The 
name  of  Nucingen  &  Co.  serves  as  a  decoy.  I  under- 
stand now  how  it  is  that  to  prove  the  payment  of 
money,  should  inquiry  be  aroused,  he  has  sent  away 
enormous  sums  to  Amsterdam,  London,  Naples,  and 
Vienna.  How  could  we  get  hold  of  those  sums  ?  " 


Pere  Q-oriot.  283 

Eugene  heard  the  dull  sound  of  Pere  Goriot's  knees 
falling  on  the  tiled  floor  of  his  chamber. 

"  Good  God !  What  have  I  done  ?  "  he  cried.  "  I 
have  delivered  my  daughter  over  to  this  man  1  He 
will  strip  her  of  everything!  Oh,  forgive  me,  my 
poor  girl !  " 

"  True.  If  I  am  now  in  the  depths  of  trouble,  it  is 
partly  your  fault,  Father,"  said  Delphine.  "A  girl  has 
so  little  sense  up  to  the  time  she  is  married.  What 
do  we  know  of  the  world,  or  of  men  or  manners?  It 
is  the  duty  of  our  fathers  to  see  to  these  things.  Dear 
Father,  I  don't  mean  to  blame  you,  — forgive  me  for 
saying  so.  In  this  case  the  fault  was  all  mine.  No  — 
don't  cry,  Papa,"  she  said,  kissing  his  forehead. 

"  Don't  you  cry,  either,  my  little  Delphine.  Stoop 
lower,  that  I  may  kiss  away  your  tears.  Ah  !  I  will 
find  my  wits  again.  I  will  unravel  the  tangle  thy 
husband  has  made  of  thy  affairs." 

"  No,  let  me  manage  him.  I  think  I  can  get  him 
to  put  some  of  my  money  at  once  into  land.  Perhaps 
I  can  make  him  buy  back  Nucingen  in  Alsace  in  my 
name.  I  know  he  wants  it.  But  come  to-morrow, 
Papa,  and  look  into  his  books  and  his  affairs.  Mon- 
sieur Derville  knows  nothing  whatever  about  business. 
Stay  !  don't  come  to-morrow,  —  it  will  agitate  me  ; 
Madame  de  Beauseant's  ball  is  the  day  after,  and  I 
want  to  take  care  of  myself  and  be  as  beautiful  as  pos- 
sible, to  do  honor  to  my  dear  Eugene.  Let  us  go  and 
look  into  his  chamber." 

At  this  moment  another  carriage  drew  up  in  the  Rue 
Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve,  and  Madame  de  Restaud's 
voice  was  heard  speaking  to  Sylvie. 


284  Pere  Goriot. 

"  Is  my  father  in  ?  " 

This  circumstance  saved  Eugene,  who  was  on  the 
point  of  throwing  himself  upon  the  bed  and  pretending 
to  be  asleep. 

"  Ah,  Papa,  have  you  heard  about  Anastasie  ?  "  said 
Delphine,  recognizing  her  sister's  voice.  "  It  seems 
that  very  strange  things  have  been  going  on  in  her 
household." 

"  What  things?"  cried  Pere  Goriot.  "Is  this  to  be 
my  end  ?  My  poor  head  cannot  bear  another  blow  !  " 

"  Papa,"  said  the  countess,  entering.  "  Ah,  you 
here,  Delphine?" 

Madame  de  Restaud  seemed  embarrassed  at  the 
sight  of  her  sister. 

"  Good  morning,  Nasie,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen. 
"  Do  you  think  my  being  here  so  extraordinary  ?  I 
see  my  father  every  day." 

"  Since  when  ?  " 

"  If  you  came  here,  you  would  know." 

"  Don't  aggravate  me,  Delphine,"  said  the  countess, 
in  a  lamentable  voice.  "I  am  very  unhappy.  I  am 
ruined,  my  poor  Father,  —  utterly  ruined,  at  last!" 

"What  is  it,  Nasie?"  cried  Pere  Goriot.  "  Tell  me 
all,  my  child.  Oh,  she  is  fainting !  —  Delphine,  come, 
help  her ;  be  kind  to  her,  and  I  will  love  you  better 
than  ever  —  if  I  can." 

"  My  poor  Nasie,"  said  Madame  de  Nucingen,  mak- 
ing her  sister  sit  down,  "  speak ;  we  are  the  only  ones  in 
the  world  who  love  you  enough  to  forgive  everything. 
You  see,  family  affections  are  the  safest,  after  all." 

Pere  Goriot  shivered.  "  I  shall  die  of  this,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  "Come,"  he  continued,  stirring  the 


P$re  G-oriot.  285 

miserable  fire ;  "  come  to  the  hearth,  both  of  you ;  I 
am  cold.  What  is  it,  Nasie?  Speak,  —  you  are  kill- 
ing me." 

"  Father !  "  said  the  poor  woman.  "  My  husband 
knows  all.  You  remember,  some  time  ago,  that  note 
of  Maxime's  which  you  paid  for  me  at  Gobseck's? 
Well,  it  was  not  the  first.  I  had  paid  many  before. 
About  the  beginning  of  January  he  was  greatly  out  of 
spirits;  he  would  tell  me  nothing.  But  it  is  so  easy  to 
read  the  heart  of  those  we  love,  —  a  trifle  tells  every- 
thing; besides,  there  are  presentiments.  He  was  more 
loving  and  tender  than  I  had  ever  known  him.  Poor 
Muxime!  In  his  heart  he  was  bidding  me  good-by; 
lie  was  thinking  of  blowing  out  his  brains.  At  last 
I  besought  him  so  earnestly  that  he  told  me  —  but 
not  until  I  had  been  two  hours  on  my  knees  —  that 
he  owed  a  hundred  thousand  francs.  Oh,  Papa !  — 
a  hundred  thousand  francs !  I  was  beside  myself. 
I  knew  you  had  not  got  them ;  I  had  eaten  up  your 
all  —  " 

"  No,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  "  I  have  not  got  them.  I 
cannot  give  them  to  you  —  unless  I  stole  them.  Yes ! 
I  could  have  gone  out  to  steal  them.  Nasie,  I  will 
go-" 

At  these  words,  forced  out  like  the  death-rattle  of 
the  dying,  —  the  groan  of  paternal  love  reduced  to  im- 
potence,—  the  sisters  paused:  what  selfish  souls  could 
listen  coldly  to  this  cry  of  anguish  that  like  a  pebble 
flung  into  an  abyss  revealed  its  depths  ? 

"  I  obtained  them,  my  Father,"  said  the  countess, 
bursting  into  tears.  "  I  sold  that  which  did  not  belong 
to  me." 


286  Pere  Goriot. 

Delphine,  too,  seemed  moved,  and  laid  her  head  upon 
her  sister's  shoulder. 

"  Then  it  was  all  true  ?"  she  said. 

Anastasie  bowed  her  head.  Madame  de  Nucingen 
took  her  in  her  ai'ms  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"  You  will  always  be  loved,  not  judged,  by  me,"  she 
said. 

"  My  angels ! "  said  their  father  in  a  feeble  voice ; 
"  alas !  that  your  union  should  come  only  through 
misfortune." 

"  To  save  Maxime's  life,  to  save  my  own  happiness," 
resumed  the  countess,  comforted  by  these  proofs  of 
loving  kindness,  "  I  carried  to  that  money-lender  whom 
you  know  of — that  man  born  in  hell,  whom  nothing 
moves  to  pity ;  that  Monsieur  Gobseck  —  the  family 
diamonds,  heir-looms  treasured  by  Monsieur  de  Res- 
taud :  his,  my  own,  all,  everything.  I  sold  them. 
Sold  them,  do  you  understand  ?  I  saved  Maxime ; 
but  I  killed  myself.  Restaud  knows  all." 

"  Who  told  him  ?  Who  ?  that  I  may  strangle  them ! " 
cried  the  old  man  passionately. 

"  Yesterday  my  husband  sent  for  me  to  his  chamber. 
I  went.  '  Anastasie,'  he  said  to  me,  in  such  a  voice,  — 
oh,  his  voice  was  enough!  I  knew  Avhat  was  com- 
ing, —  '  Where  are  your  diamonds  ? '  '  In  my  room,'  I 
answered.  '  No,'  he  said,  looking  full  at  me,  '  they  are 
there,  on  my  bureau.'  lie  showed  me  the  case,  which 
he  had  covered  with  his  handkerchief.  'You  know 
where  they  have  come  from,'  he  said.  I  fell  at  his 
feet ;  I  wept ;  I  asked  him  what  death  he  wished  me 
to  die  —  " 

"  Did  you  say  that  ?  "  cried  Pere  Goriot.    "  By  all  that 


Pere  Goriot.  287 

is  sacred,  any  one  who  blames  or  harms  my  children, 
while  I  live,  may  be  sure  —  that  I  —  " 

The  words  died  in  his  throat,  and  he  was  silent. 

"  And  then,  dear  Father,  he  asked  me  to  do  some- 
thing harder  than  to  die.  Heaven  preserve  other 
women  from  hearing  what  he  said  to  me !  " 

"  I  shall  kill  him,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  slowly.  "  He  has 
but  one  life,  yet  he  owes  me  two.  What  followed  ?" 

"He  looked  at  me,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause, 
"  and  said,  '  Anastasie,  I  will  bury  all  in  silence.  I 
will  not  separate  from  you,  —  there  are  children  to  be 
considered.  I  will  not  fight  with  Monsieur  de  Trailles, 
— I  might  miss  him.  Human  justice  gives  me  the  right 
to  kill  him  in  your  arms ;  but  I  will  not  dishonor  the 
children.  I  spare  you  and  your  children,  but  I  impose 
two  conditions.  Answer  me.  Are  any  of  these  chil- 
dren mine  ? '  I  said,  '  Yes.'  '  Which  ? '  « Ernest,  our 
eldest.'  'It  is  well,'  he  said.  'Next,  swear  to  obey 
me  in  future  on  one  point.'  I  swore.  'You  will  sign 
over  to  me  your  property  when  I  demand  it?' " 

"  Sign  it  not !  "  cried  Pore  Goriot.  "  Never  sign  it ! 
Nasie,  Nasie,  he  cares  for  his  heir,  his  eldest.  I  will 
seize  the  child.  Thunder  of  heaven !  he  is  mine  as 
well  as  his ;  he  is  my  grandson.  I  will  put  him  in  my 
village  where  I  was  bora.  I  will  care  for  him  —  oh, 
yes,  be  sure  of  that !  I  will  make  your  husband  yield. 
I  will  say  to  him,  If  you  want  your  son,  give  me  back 
my  daughter j  restore  her  property;  leave  her  in 
peace  —  " 

"  Father ! " 

"  Yes,  thy  father.  I  am  thy  true  father.  Let  this 
great  lord  beware  how  he  maltreats  my  daughter ! 


288  Pere  Goriot. 

A  fire  is  running  through  my  veins ;  I  have  the  blood 
of  a  tiger  in  me  !  Oh,  my  children,  my  children  !  is 
this  your  life?  —  it  is  my  death.  What  will  become  of 
you  when  I  am  gone  ?  Why  cannot  a  father  live  out 
the  life  of  his  child?  Oh,  my  God,  thy  world  is 
wrong!  —  and  yet  thou  art  a  father.  Oh,  Father  in 
heaven !  why  are  we  condemned  to  suffer  through 
our  children  ?  Ah,  my  angels,  it  is  only  your  griefs 
that  make  you  come  to  me,  —  only  your  tears  that  you 
share  with  me !  Yes,  yes,  but  that  is  love ;  I  know 
you  love  me.  Come,  both  of  you,  come,  pour  your 
troubles  into  my  heart :  it  is  strong,  it  is  large,  it  can 
hold  them  all.  Yes,  though  you  rend  it  into  fragments, 
each  fragment  is  a  living  heart,  —  a  father's  heart. 
Could  they  but  take  your  griefs  and  bear  them  for 
you !  Ah  !  when  you  were  my  little  ones  I  made  you 
happy." 

"  We  have  never  been  happy  since,"  said  Delphine. 
"  Where  are  those  days  when  we  slid  down  the  sacks 
in  the  great  granary !  " 

"  Father,  I  have  not  told  you  all,"  whispered  Anas- 
tasie  to  the  old  man,  who  started  convulsively.  "  The 
diamonds  did  not  bring  a  hundred  thousand  francs. 
They  are  still  pursuing  Maxime.  We  have  twelve 
thousand  francs  more  to  pay.  He  has  promised  me  to 
reform  ;  to  give  up  gambling.  All  I  have  in  the  world 
is  his  affection ;  and,  oh,  I  have  paid  too  terrible  a 
price  for  it !  —  I  cannot  lose  him  now  !  I  have  sacri- 
ficed honor,  fortune,  children,  peace  of  mind  for  him. 
Oh,  do  something  for  me,  that  he  may  not  be  impris- 
oned, not  driven  from  society !  I  know  he  will  yet 
make  himself  a  position  in  the  world.  I  have  nothing 


P$re  G-oriot.  289 

left  to  give  him  now.  But  we  have  children  ;  they 
must  be  provided  for  All  will  be  lost  if  they  put  him 
in  Sainte-Pelagie,  —  a  debtor's  prison  ! " 

"I  have  nothing  —  nothing  left,  Nasie — nothing! 
The  world  is  at  an  end  ;  I  feel  it  quaking,  crumbling. 
Fly,  fly !  save  yourselves  !  Stay !  I  have  still  my 
silver  buckles,  and  six  forks  and  spoons,  the  first  I  ever 
owned.  But  I  have  no  money,  only  my  annuity  — ' 

"What  have  you  done  with  your  money  in  the 
funds?" 

"I  sold  it  out,  keeping  a  trifle  for  my  wants.  I 
wanted  the  rest,  twelve  thousand  francs,  to  furnish 
some  rooms  for  Fifine." 

"  For  you,  Delphine?"  cried  Madame  de  Restaud. 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  "  the 
twelve  thousand  francs  are  gone." 

"  I  guess  where,"  said  the  countess,  "  to  help  Mon- 
sieur de  Rastignac.  Ah,  my  poor  Delphiue,  pause! 
see  what  I  have  come  to." 

"  My  dear,  Monsieur  de  Rastignac  is  a  man  incapa- 
ble of  ruining  the  woman  who  loves  him." 

"  Thank  you,  Delphine.  In  the  terrible  position  I 
am  in,  you  might  have  spared  me  that.  But  you  never 
loved  me." 

"  Ah,  but-  she  does  love  you,  Nasie ;  she  was  saying 
so  just  now.  We  were  speaking  of  you,  and  she  said 
you  were  beautiful,  but  she  was  only  pretty  —  " 

"  Pretty  !  "  cried  the  countess ;  "  her  heart  is  stone- 
cold." 

"  And  if  it  were ! "  exclaimed  Delphine,  coloring, 
"  how  have  you  behaved  to  me  ?  You  have  dis- 
claimed me;  you  have  shut  against  me  the  doors  of 
19. 


290  Pere  Goriot. 

houses  where  I  longed  to  go ;  you  have  never  let  slip 
an  opportunity  to  give  me  pain.  A  cold  heart !  Did 
I  come  like  you,  and  squeeze  out  of  our  poor  father, 
little  by  little,  a  thousand  francs  here,  a  thousand 
francs  there,  —  all  he  possessed  ?  Did  I  reduce  him  to 
the  state  he  is  now  in  ?  This  is  your  doing,  my  sister. 
I  sa\v  my  father  as  often  as  I  could.  I  never  turned 
him  out  of  doors,  and  then  came  and  licked  his  hands 
when  I  had  need  of  him.  I  did  not  even  know  that  he 
was  spending  those  twelve  thousand  francs  forme.  I 
at  least  have  some  decency  —  and  you  know  it.  Papa 
may  sometimes  have  made  me  presents,  but  I  never 
begged  for  them  —  " 

"  You  were  better  off  than  I.  Monsieur  de  Marsay 
was  rich,  as  you  had  good  cause  to  know.  You  have 
always  been  despicable  as  to  money.  Adieu,  I  have 
no  sister,  no  —  " 

"  Hush,  Nasie  ! "  cried  Pere  Goriot. 

"  No  one  but  a  sister —  a  sister  like  you  — would  in- 
sinuate what  the  world  itself  does  not  believe.  It  is 
monstrous  !  "  cried  Delphine. 

"  My  children !  my  children !  hush,  or  you  will 
kill  me  before  your  eyes  — " 

"  I  forgive  you,  Nasie,"  continued  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  "  for  you  are  unhappy ;  but  I  am  better 
than  you —  think  of  your  saying  that,  just  as  I  was 
making  up  my  mind  to  do  everything  that  I  could  for 
you.  Well,  it  is  worthy  of  all  that  you  have  done  to 
me  for  the  last  nine  years !  " 

"  My  children !  oh,  my  children !  Kiss  each  other, 
be  friends,"  said  the  father.  "  You  are  two  angels." 

"  No,   let   me   alone ! "    cried   the   countess,   whom 


Pere  Goriot.  291 

Pere  Goriot  had  taken  by  the  arm;  "she  has  less  pity 
for  me  than  my  husband.  An  example  of  all  the  vir- 
tues, indeed  ! " 

"  I  had  rather  be  supposed  to  owe  money  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Marsay  than  to  own  that  Monsieur  de  Trailles 
had  cost  me  two  hundred  thousand  francs,"  replied 
Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"  Delphine !  "  cried  the '  countess,  making  a  step 
towards  her. 

"  I  say  the  truth  ;  but  what  you  say  of  me  is  false," 
replied  the  other,  coldly. 

"  Delphine,  you  are  a  —  " 

Pere  Goriot  sprang  forward  and  prevented  the  coun- 
tess from  saying  more  by  putting  his  hand  over  her 
mouth. 

"  Good  heavens,  Papa !  what  have  you  been  touch- 
ing?" cried  Anastasie. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes !  I  ought  not  to  have  touched  you," 
said  the  poor  father,  wiping  his  hand  upon  his  trousers, 
"  I  did  not  know  you  were  coming.  I  am  moving 
to-day." 

He  was  glad  to  be  able  to  draw  upon  himself  a 
reproach  that  diverted  the  current  of  his  daughter's 
anger. 

"Ah!"  he  sighed,  sitting  down,  "you  break  my 
heart.  I  am  dying,  children  ;  my  head  burns  as  if  my 
skull  were  full  of  fire.  Be  kind  to  each  other;  love 
one  another.  —  You  will  kill  me.  Delphine  !  Nasie  ! 
you  were  both  right,  you  were  both  wrong.  Come, 
Dedel,"  he  resumed,  turning  to  Madame  de  Nucingen 
with  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  "  she  needs  twelve  thousand 
francs  ;  let  us  see  how  we  can  get  them  for  her.  Oh, 


292  Pere  Goriot. 

my  daughters,  do  not  look  at  each  other  like  that !  " 
He  fell  down  on  his  knees  before  Delphine  :  "  Ask  her 
pardon  for  my  sake,"  he  whispered  ;  "  she  is  more  un- 
happy than  you  are." 

"My  poor  Nasie,"  said  Delphine,  frightened  by  the 
wild  and  maddened  expression  on  her  father's  face, 
"  I  was  wrong.  Kiss  me." 

"Ah,  that  is  balm  to  my  heart !  "  cried  the  old  man. 
"But  the  twelve  thousand  francs,  —  how  can  we  get 
them?  I  might  offer  myself  for  a  substitute  in  the 
army  —  " 

"  Oh,  Father !  "  cried  the  daughters  flinging  their 
arms  about  him.  "  No !  " 

"  God  will  bless  you  for  that  thought,"  cried  Del- 
phine. "  We  are  not  worthy  of  it,  —  are  we,  Nasie  ?  " 

"And  besides,  my  poor  Father,  it  would  be  but  a 
drop  in  the  bucket,"  observed  the  countess. 

"  Will  flesh  and  blood  bring  nothing?  "  cried  the  old 
man  wildly.  "I  would  give  myself  away  to  whoever 
would  save  thee,  Nasie ;  I  would  commit  crimes  for 
him  ;  I  would  go  to  the  galleys,  like  Vautrin  ;  I  —  " 
he  stopped  as  if  struck  by  a  thunderbolt,  and  grasped 
his  head.  "  Nothing  more  !  —  all  gone !  —  "  lie  said. 
"  No,  I  could  steal  —  if  I  knew  where  :  it  is  hard  to 
know  where.  Oh,  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  —  but 
die !  Let  me  die  !  I  am  good  for  nothing  else.  I  am 
no  longer  a  father :  she  appeals  to  me  ;  she  needs  my 
help,  and  I  have  none  to  give  her !  Ah,  wretch  ! 
why  did  I  buy  that  annuity  ?  — I !  who  have  children  ! 
Did  I  not  love  them  ?  Die,  die  !  like  a  dog,  as  I 
am.  Yet  the  beasts  love  their  young  —  Oh,  my 
head,  my  head !  it  bursts  !  " 


Pere  Goriot.  293 

He  sobbed  convulsively.  Eugene,  horror-stricken, 
took  up  the  note  he  had  once  signed  for  Vautrin,  the 
stamp  of  which  was  for  a  much  larger  sum  than  that 
named  on  the  face  of  it;  he  altered  the  figures,  making 
it  a  note  for  twelve  thousand  francs  payable  to  the  order 
of  Goriot,  and  went  into  the  old  mail's  chamber. 

"  Here  is  the  sum  you  want,  Madame,"  he  said,  giv- 
ing Madame  de  Restaud  the  paper.  "  I  was  asleep  in 
my  room,  and  was  wakened  by  what  you  were  saying. 
I  learned  for  the  first  time  what  I  owe  to  Monsieur 
Goriot.  Here  is  a  paper  on  which  you  will  be  able  to 
raise  the  money.  When  it  matures,  I  promise  faith- 
fully that  it  shall  be  paid." 

The  countess  stood  motionless,  holding  the  paper. 
"  Delphine,"  she  said,  pale,  and  trembling  with  anger, 
rage,  and  fury,  "  I  take  God  to  witness  that  I  forgave 
you  all  —  oh !  but  this  !  "What !  Monsieur  has  been 
there,  and  you  knew  it  ?  You  have  had  the  meanness 
to  feed  your  spite  by  letting  him  hear  my  secrets,  — 
mine,  my  children's,  — my  shame,  my  dishonor!  Go, 
you  are  a  sister  no  longer!  I  hate  you!  I  will  harm 
you,  if  I  can.  I  — " 

Anger  cut  short  her  words ;  her  throat  was  parched 
and  dry. 

"My  child !  he  is  one  of  us;  he  is  my  son,  your 
brother,  our  deliverer,"  cried  Pere  Goriot.  "  Kiss 
him,  thank  him,  Nasie.  See,  I  embrace  him,"  he  went 
on,  clasping  Eugene  to  his  breast  with  a  sort  of  fury. 
"  Oh,  my  son  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  will  be  more  than  a  father 
to  thee.  Nasie,  Nasie !  bless  him  and  thank  him." 

"  Don't  speak  to  her,  Father,  she  is  out  of  her  senses," 
said  Delphine." 


294  Pere  G-oriot. 

"  Out  of  my  senses !  And  you  ?  —  what  are  you  ?  " 
cried  Madame  de  Restaud. 

"  Oh,  my  children !  I  die  if  you  continue,"  cried  the 
old  man,  falling  across  his  bed  as  if  struck  by  a  shot. 
"  They  are  killing  me,"  he  said. 

The  countess  turned  to  Eugene,  who  stood  motion- 
less, struck  dumb  by  the  violence  of  the  scene  before 
him. 

"  Monsieur  ?  "  she  said,  and  her  gesture,  tone,  and 
look  were  interrogative.  She  paid  no  attention  to 
her  father,  whose  waistcoat  was  being  loosened  by 
Delphine. 

"  Madame,  I  shall  pay  and  keep  silence,"  he  said, 
answering  her  question  before  she  asked  it. 

"  You  have  killed  our  father,  Nasie,"  cried  Delphine, 
pointing  to  the  old  man  now  senseless  on  the  bed. 

Madame  de  Restaud  left  the  room. 

"  I  forgive  her,"  he  said,  opening  his  eyes ;  "  her 
position  is  dreadful,  and  would  turn  a  wiser  head. 
Console  hei-,  Delphine.  Be  good  to  her,  —  promise 
your  poor  father,  who  is  dying,"  he  went  on,  pressing 
her  hand. 

11  But  what  ails  you  ?  "  she  said,  much  frightened. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  her  father  answered.  "  It  will 
go  off  presently.  I  have  a  weight  upon  my  fore- 
head ;  a  headache.  Poor  Nasie,  what  will  become  of 
her?" 

At  this  moment  Madame  de  Restaud  returned  and 
threw  herself  down  beside  her  father.  "  Oh,  forgive 
me !  "  she  cried. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Pere  Goriot,  "  that  hurts  me 
more  than  anything." 


Pere  Groriot.  295 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  countess,  turning  to  Rastignac 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  my  troubles  have  made  me 
unjust.  You  will  be  a  brother  to  me?"  she  added, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"  Nasie,"  said  Delphine,  "my  little  Nasie,  let  us  for- 
get everything." 

"No,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  remember." 

"  My  angels,"  said  Fere  Goriot,  "  you  lift  the  cur- 
tain that  was  falling  before  my  eyes.  Your  voices 
call  me  back  to  life.  Let  me  see  you  kiss  each 
other  once  more.  Tell  me,  Nasie,  will  this  note  save 
you  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so.     But,  Papa,  will  you  indorse  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  a  fool  I  was  to  forget  that !  — but  I  was 
ill.  Nasie,  don't  be  vexed  with  me.  Let  me  know 
when  you  are  out  of  your  troubles.  But,  stay,  I  will 
go  to  you  —  No,  I  will  not  go.  I  dare  not  see  your 
husband.  As  to  his  doing  what  he  pleases  with  your 
fortune,  remember,  I  am  here.  Adieu,  my  child." 

Eugene  stood  stupefied. 

"  Poor  Anastasie !  she  was  always  violent,"  said 
Madame  de  Nucingen  ;  "but  she  has  a  kind  heart." 

"  She  came  back  for  the  indorsement,"  whispered 
Eugene  in  her  ear. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  did  not  think  it.  Do  not  trust  her,"  he 
added,  lifting  up  his  eyes,  as  if  to  confide  a  thought 
not  to  be  put  into  words. 

"  Yes,  she  was  always  acting  a  pnrt ;  and  my  poor 
father  was  completely  taken  in  by  her." 

"  How  are  you  now,  dear  Pere  Goriot  ? "  asked 
Rastignac,  bending  over  the  old  man. 


296  P£re  Goriot. 

"  I  feel  like  going  to  sleep,"  he  answered.  Eugene 
helped  him  to  go  to  bed  ;  and  after  he  had  fallen  asleep 
holding  his  daughter's  hand,  Delphine  quietly  left  him. 

"To-night,  at  the  opera,"  she  said  to  Eugene,  "you 
will  bring  me  word  how  he  is.  To-morrow  you  will 
change  your  quarters,  Monsieur.  Let  me  peep  into 
your  room  —  oh,  what  a  horrid  place !  it  is  worse 
than  my  father's.  Eugene,  you  behaved  beautifully ! 
I  would  love  you  more  than  ever  for  it  —  if  I  could. 
But,  my  child,  if  you  mean  to  get  on  in  the  world 
you  must  give  up  throwing  twelve  thousand  franc- 
notes  about  in  that  way.  Monsieur  de  Trailles  is  a 
gambler,  though  my  sister  will  not  admit  it.  He 
could  have  picked  up  that  twelve  thousand  francs 
in  the  place  where  he  has  lost  and  won  a  mint  of 
money. " 

A  groan  brought  them  hastily  back  to  Pere  Goriot. 
He  was  to  all  appearances  asleep,  but  as  they  ap- 
proached they  heard  him  say,  "  Not  happy ;  they  are 
not  happy  !  "  Whether  he  were  asleep  or  awake,  the 
tone  in  which  he  uttered  the  words  struck  so  painfully 
to  his  daughter's  heart  that  she  leaned  over  the 
wretched  bed  on  which  her  father  lay  and  kissed  him 
on  his  forehead.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  murmured, 
"  Delphine !  " 

"  How  are  you  now?  "  she  said. 

"  Better.  Do  not  worry  about  me.  I  shall  get  up 
presently.  Go  away,  my  children,  and  be  happy." 

Eugene  took  Delphine  home  ;  but  not  liking  the  con- 
dition in  which  they  had  left  Pere  Goriot,  he  refused 
to  dine  with  her,  and  went  back  to  the  Maison  Vau- 
quer.  He  found  him  better,  and  just  sitting  down  to 


Pere  Goriot.  297 

dinner.  Bianchon  had  placed  himself  so  that  he  could 
watch  the  old  man  unobserved.  When  he  saw  him 
take  up  his  bread  and  smell  it  to  judge  the  quality  of 
the  flour,  the  medical  student,  observing  a  total  absence 
of  all  consciousness  of  the  act,  made  a  significant 
gesture. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,  graduate  of  the  Cochin  Hos- 
pital," said  Eugene. 

Bianchon  did  as  he  was  asked,  all  the  more  readily 
because  it  placed  him  nearer  to  the  old  man. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ? "  whispered 
Rastignac. 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  he 's  done  for.  Something 
out  of  the  common  must  have  excited  him.  He  is 
threatened  with  apoplexy.  The  lower  part  of  his  face 
is  calm  enough,  but  the  upper  part  is  drawn  and  unnat- 
ural. The  eyes  have  the  peculiar  expression  which 
denotes  pressure  on  the  brain ;  don't  you  notice  that 
they  are  cove  ed  with  a  light  film?  To-morrow 
morning  I  shall  be  able  to  judge  better." 

"  Is  there  any  cure  for  it  ?" 

"  None.  Possibly  we  might  retard  his  death  if  we 
could  set  up  a  reaction  in  the  extremities ;  but  if  the 
present  symptoms  continue,  it  will  be  all  up  with  the 
poor  old  fellow  before  to-morrow  night.  Do  you  know 
what  brought  on  his  illness  ?  He  must  have  had  some 
great  shock  that  his  mind  has  sunk  under." 

"  Yes,  he  has,"  said  Rastignac,  remembering  how 
the  daughters  had  struck  alternate  blows  at  their 
father's  heart.  "But,  at  least,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"Delphine  loves  her  old  father." 


298  Pere  Groriot. 


XVII. 

THAT  night,  at  the  opera,  Eugene  took  some  precau- 
tions not  to  alarm  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  be  so  anxious  about  him,"  she 
said,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  tell  her  of  the  illness. 
"  My  father  is  very  strong ;  this  morning  we  shook 
him  a  little,  that  is  all.  Our  fortunes  are  in  peril:  do 
you  realize  the  extent  of  that  misfortune  ?  I  could 
not  survive  it,  if  it  were  not  that  your  affection  makes 
me  indifferent  to  what  I  should  otherwise  consider 
the  greatest  sorrow  in  the  world.  I  have  but  one 
fear  now,  —  to  lose  the  love  which  makes  it  happiness 
to  live.  All  outside  of  that  I  have  ceased  to  care  for ; 
you  are  all  in  all  to  me.  If  I  desire  to  keep  my  wealth, 
it  is  that  I  may  better  please  you.  I  know  that  I  can 
be  more  to  a  lover  than  to  a  father ;  it  is  my  nature. 
My  father  gave  me  a  heart,  but  you  have  made  it 
beat.  The  world  may  blame  me,  —  I  do  not  care  j 
you  will  acquit  me  of  sins  into  which  I  am  drawn  by 
an  irresistible  attachment.  You  think  me  an  unnatural 
daughter?  No,  I  am  not :  who  would  not  love  a  father 
kind  as  ours  has  been  ?  But  how  could  I  prevent  his 
knowing  the  inevitable  results  of  our  deplorable  mar- 
riages? Why  did  he  not  prevent  them  ?  Was  it  not 
his  duty  to  think  and  judge  for  us  ?  I  know  that  he 
suffers  now  as  much  as  we  do ;  but  how  can  I  help 


Pere  Cf-oriot.  299 

that  ?  Ought  we  to  make  light  of  our  troubles  ?  That 
would  do  no  good.  Our  silence  would  have  distressed 
him  far  more  than  our  reproaches  and  complaints  have 
injured  him.  There  are  some  situations  in  life  where 
every  alternative  is  bitter." 

Eugene  was  silent,  touched  by  this  simple  expression 
of  native  feeling.  The  clear  judgment  a  woman  shows 
in  judging  natural  affections  when  a  privileged  affection 
separates  and  holds  her  at  a  distance  from  them,  struck 
him  forcibly.  Madame  de  Nucingen  was  troubled  by 
his  silence. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Of  what  you  have  just  said  to  me.  Until  now,  I 
thought  that  I  loved  you  more  than  you  love  me." 

She  smiled,  but  checked  the  expression  of  her  feel- 
ings, that  she  might  keep  the  conversation  within  the 
conventional  limits  of  propriety. 

"  Eugene,"  she  said,  changing  the  conversation,  "  do 
you  know  what  is  going  on  in  the  world  ?  All  Paris 
will  be  at  Madame  de  Beauseant's  to-morrow  evening. 
The  Rochefides  and  the  Marquis  d'Adjuda  have  agreed 
to  keep  the  matter  secret ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the 
king  signs  the  marriage  contract  to-morrow  morning, 
and  that  your  poor  cousin  as  yet  knows  nothing  of  it. 
She  cannot  put  off  her  ball,  and  the  marquis  will  not 
be  there.  All  the  world  is  talking  of  it." 

"  Then  the  world  is  amusing  itself  with  what  is  in- 
famous," cried  Eugene,  "  and  makes  itself  an  accom- 
plice. Don't  you  know  that  it  will  kill  Madame  de 
Beauseant  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  it  will  not,"  said  Delphine,  smiling;  "yon 
don't  understand  that  sort  of  woman.  But  all  Paris 


300  P£re  Croriot. 

will  be  at  her  ball,  —  and  I  too,  I  shall  be  there!  I 
owe  this  happiness  to  you." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Rastignac,  "  it  is  only  one  of  those 
unfounded  rumors  which  are  always  flying  about 
Paris." 

"  We  shall  know  to-morrow." 

Eugene  did  not  go  back  to  the  Maison  Vauquer. 
The  pleasure  of  occupying  his  new  rooms  in  the  Rue 
d'Artois  was  a  temptation  too  great  to  withstand. 
The  next  morning  he  slept  late ;  and  towards  midday 
Madame  de  Nucingen  came  to  breakfast  with  him. 
Young  people  are  so  eager  for  these  pretty  enjoyments 
that  he  had  well-nigh  forgotten  Pcre  Goriot.  It  was 
like  a  delightful  festival  to  make  use  of  each  elegant 
trifle  that  was  now  his  own ;  and  the  presence  of 
Madame  de  Nucingen  lent  to  them  all  an  added 
charm.  Nevertheless,  about  four  o'clock  they  remem- 
bered the  old  man,  and  as  they  recalled  the  happiness 
he  had  shown  at  the  thought  of  living  there,  Eugene 
remarked  that  they  ought  to  get  him  there  at  once, 
—  especially  if  he  were  likely  to  be  ill ;  and  he  left 
Delphine  to  fetch  him  from  the  Maison  Vauquer. 

Neither  Goriot  nor  Bianchon  were  at  the  dinner- 
table. 

"  Well,"  said  the  painter,  "  so  Pere  Goriot  has  broken 
down  at  last!  Bianchon  is  upstairs  with  him.  The 
old  fellow  saw  one  of  his  daughters  this  morning,  — 
that  Countess  de  Restau-rama.  After  that  he  went 
out,  and  made  himself  worse.  Society  is  about  to  be 
deprived  of  one  of  its  brightest  ornaments." 

Eugene  rushed  to  the  staircase. 


Pere  G-oriot.  301 

"  Here,  Monsieur  Eugene ! " 

"  Monsieur  Eugene  !  Madame  is  calling  you,"  cried 
Sylvie. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  widow,  "  you  and  Pere  Goriot 
were  to  have  left  on  the  15th  of  February ;  it  is  three 
days  past  that  time,  —  this  is  the  18th.  I  shall  expect 
both  of  you  to  pay  me  a  month's  lodging ;  but  if  you 
choose  to  be  responsible  for  Pere  Goriot,  your  word 
will  be  satisfactory." 

"  Why  so?     Cannot  you  trust  him  ?  " 

"  Trust  him !  If  he  were  to  go  out  of  his  mind 
or  die,  his  daughters  would  not  pay  me  a  farthing; 
and  all  he  will  leave  is  not  worth  ten  francs.  He 
carried  off  the  last  of  his  forks  and  spoons  this 
morning.  I  don't  know  why.  He  had  dressed  him- 
self up  like  a  young  man.  Heaven  forgive  me,  but  I 
do  think  he  had  put  rouge  on  his  cheeks.  He  looked 
quite  young  again." 

"I  will  be  responsible,"  cried  Eugene,  with  a  shud- 
der, foreseeing  a  catastrophe. 

He  ran  up  to  Pere  Goriot's  chamber.  The  old  man 
was  lying  on  his  bed,  with  Bianchon  beside  him. 

"  Good  evening,  Father,"  said  Eugene. 

Pere   Goriot   smiled   gently  and   said,   turning  his 
glassy  eyes  upon  the  student,  "How  is  she?" 
»"  Quite  well ;  and  you?" 

"  Not  very  ill." 

"  Don't  tire  him,"  said  Bianchon,  drawing  Eugene 
apart  into  a  comer  of  the  room. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Rastignac. 

"  Nothing  can  save  him  but  a  miracle.  The  conges- 
tion I  expected  has  taken  place.  I  've  put  on  mustard 


302  Pere  Goriot. 

plasters,   and    luckily    they    are    drawing:    he    feels 
them." 

"  Can  he  be  moved  ?  " 

"  Not  possibly.  You  must  leave  him  where  he  is, 
and  he  must  be  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  free  from 
emotion." 

"Dear  Bianchon,"  said  Eugene,  "we  will  take  care 
of  him  together." 

"  I  called  in  the  surgeon-in-chief  of  my  hospital." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"He  will  give  no  opinion  till  to-morrow  evening. 
He  has  promised  to  come  in  after  he  gets  through  his 
work  for  the  day.  It  is  quite  certain  that  the  old  fel- 
low has  been  up  to  some  imprudence ;  but  he  won't 
tell  me  what.  He  is  as  obstinate  as  a  mule.  When  I 
speak  to  him  he  either  makes  believe  he  does  not  hear, 
or  that  he  has  gone  to  sleep ;  or  if  his  eyes  are  open, 
he  begins  to  groan.  He  went  out  this  morning  and 
walked  all  over  Paris,  nobody  knows  where.  He 
carried  off  everything  he  owned  of  any  value;  he 
has  been  making  some  infernal  sale  of  his  things, 
and  exhausting  his  strength.  One  of  his  daughters 
was  here." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Rastignac,  "  the  countess  ;  a  tall,  dark 
woman,  with  fine  eyes,  a  pretty  foot,  and  graceful 
figure  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Leave  me  a  moment  alone  with  him,"  said  Eugene. 
"  I  can  get  him  to  tell  me  everything." 

"  Well,  then,  I  '11  go  and  get  my  dinner.  Be  careful 
not  to  agitate  him.  There  is  still  some  hope." 

"  I  '11  be  careful." 


Pere  Groriot.  303 

"  They  will  enjoy  themselves  to-morrow,"  said  Pere 
Goriot  to  Eugene  as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  "  They 
are  going  to  a  great  ball." 

"  What  did  you  do  this  morning,  Papa,  to  knock 
yourself  up  and  have  to  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Was  Anastasie  here  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Pere  Goriot. 

"  Well,  then,  don't  keep  any  secrets  from  me.  What 
did  she  ask  you  for  this  time?" 

"  Ah !  "  he  replied,  rallying  his  strength  to  speak. 
"  Poor  child !  she  was  in  great  trouble.  Nasie  has  not 
a  sou  of  her  own  since  the  affair  of  the  diamonds.  She 
had  ordered  for  this  ball  a  beautiful  dress  of  gold  tissue, 
which  would  set  her  off  like  a  jewel.  The  dressmaker 
—  infamous  creature!  —  refused  to  trust  her,  and  her 
maid  paid  a  thousand  francs  on  account —  poor  Nasie  ! 
that  she  should  come  to  that!  it  breaks  my  heart ;  — 
but  the  maid,  finding  that  Restaud  had  withdrawn  all 
confidence  from  Nasie,  was  afraid  of  losing  her  money, 
so  she  arranged  with  the  dressmaker  not  to  deliver  the 
dress  till  the  thousand  francs  were  paid.  The  ball  is 
to-morrow;  the  dress  is  ready;  Nasie  is  in  despair. 
She  wanted  to  borrow  my  forks  and  spoons  and  pawn 
them.  Her  husband  insists  that  she  shall  go  to  the 
ball  in  order  to  show  all  Pai'is  the  diamonds  she  was 
said  to  have  sold.  Could  she  say  to  him,  '  I  owe  a 
thousand  francs;  pay  them  for  me'?  No:  I  felt 
that  myself.  Her  sister  Delphine  is  to  be  there  in  a 
beautiful  dress ;  Anastasie  ought  not  to  be  less  brilliant 
than  her  younger  sister,  —  certainly  not.  Besides,  she 
was  drowned  in  tears,  my  poor  little  daughter !  I 


304  Pere  G-oriot. 

was  so  mortified  that  I  had  not  those  twelve  thousand 
francs  yesterday !  I  would  have  given  the  rest  of  my 
miserable  life  to  make  amends.  You  see,  I  have  borne 
up  till  now  against  everything;  but  this  last  want  of 
money  has  broken  my  heart.  —  Well,  well,  I  made  no 
bones  about  it ;  I  patched  myself  up  ;  I  tried  to  make 
myself  look  spruce,  and  I  sold  my  forks  and  spoons 
and  the  buckles  for  six  hundred  francs.  Then  I  made 
over  my  annuity  for  one  year  to  old  Gobseck  for  four 
hundred  more.  —  Bah  !  I  can  live  on  dry  bread  :  I  did 
when  I  was  young. —  So  my  Nasie  will  appear  to- 
morrow evening.  I  have  got  the  thousand  francs  under 
my  pillow.  It  warms  me  up  to  feel  them  there  under 
my  head,  and  to  know  that  they  are  going  to  give  com- 
fort to  my  poor  child.  She  is  to  come  for  them  at  ten 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning.  I  shall  be  quite  well  by 
that  time.  I  don't  want  them  to  think  me  ill ;  they 
might  not  like  to  go  to  the  ball,  —  they  would  wish  to 
stay  and  nurse  me.  Nasie  will  kiss  me  to-morrow  as 
if  I  were  a  baby.  After  all,  I  might  have  spent  that 
money  on  the  apothecary ;  I  'd  rather  give  it  to  my 
Cure-all,  —  my  Nasie.  I  can  still  comfort  her  in  her 
troubles  :  that  makes  up  in  part  for  having  sunk  my 
money  in  an  annuity.  She  is  down  in  the  very  depths, 
and  I  have  no  strength  to  pull  her  up  again  !  —  I  am 
going  back  into  business  ;  I  shall  go  to  Odessa  and 
buy  wheat:  wheat  is  worth  three  times  as  much  with 
us  as  it  costs  there.  The  importation  of  cereals  as  raw 
material  is  forbidden  ;  but  the  good  people  who  make 
the  laws  never  thought  of  prohibiting  manufactured 
articles  of  flour.  Ha !  ha  !  the  idea  came  into  my  head 
this  morning.  I  shall  make  millions  out  of  my  pastes." 


Pere  Goriot.  305 

"  He  is  losing  his  mind,"  thought  Eugene,  looking 
down  upon  the  old  man.  "  Come,  now,  lie  still,  and 
don't  talk,"  he  said. 

Rastignac  went  to  dinner  when  Bianchon  came  up. 
Both  passed  the  night  taking  turns  beside  the  sick  bed. 
One  occupied  himself  in  reading  medical  books,  the 
other  in  writing  to  his  mother  and  sisters.  The  next 
morning  Bianchon  thought  the  symptoms  somewhat 
more  favorable,  but  the  patient  needed  the  intelligent 
personal  care  which  the  two  students  alone  could  give 
him.  Leeches  were  put  on  the  emaciated  body  of  the 
poor  old  man,  and  poultices ;  mustard  foot-baths  were 
administered,  and  a  number  of  medical  devices  resorted 
to  which  required  all  the  strength  of  the  two  young 
men.  Madame  de  Restaud  did  not  come,  but  sent  a 
messenger  for  the  money. 

"  I  thought  she  would  have  come  herself ;  but  per- 
haps it  is  best  so,  —  she  might  have  been  anxious," 
said  her  father,  trying  to  make  the  best  of  his 
disappointment. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  Therese  appeared, 
bringing  a  letter  for  Eugene  :  — 

"  What  can  you  be  doing,  dear  friend?  Am  I  neglected  as 
soon  as  loved  ?  You  have  shown  me,  in  the  outpourings  of 
heart  to  heart,  a  soul  so  beautiful  that  I  trust  you  as  one  of 
those  forever  faithful  through  many  phases  and  shades  of  feel- 
ing. Do  you  remember  what  you  said  as  we  were  listening 
to  the  prayer  of  Moses  in  Egypt  ?  '  To  some  it  seems  but  a 
single  note ;  to  others  the  infinite  of  music.'  Do  not  forget  that 
I  expect  you  this  evening  to  go  with  me  to  Madame  de  Beau- 
seant's.  Monsieur  d'Adjuda's  marriage  contract  was  signed  by 
the  king  this  morning,  and  the  poor  viscountess  did  not  know 


306  Pere  G-oriot. 

of  it  till  two  o'clock.  All  Paris  will  be  at  her  house  to-night ; 
just  as  a  crowd  flocks  to  the  Place  de  Greve  to  see  an  execu- 
tion. Is  it  not  horrible  that  people  should  go  there  to  see  if 
she  can  hide  her  grief,  —  if  she  knows  how  to  die  ?  I  certainly 
would  not  go  if  I  had  been  to  her  house  before.  But  she  will 
probably  never  receive  again,  and  then  all  the  efforts  I  have  made 
to  go  there  would  be  thrown  away.  My  situation  is  different 
from  that  of  others.  And  besides,  I  shall  be  there  for  your 
sake.  If  you  do  not  come  to  me  within  two  hours,  I  ana  not 
sure  that  I  shall  pardon  you  for  the  crime." 

Eugene  seized  a  pen  and  replied  thus :  — 

"  I  am  waiting  for  a  doctor,  who  will  say  how  long  your 
father  has  to  live.  He  is  dying.  I  will  come  and  tell  you 
what  the  medical  opinion  is.  I  fear  it  can  only  be  that  he 
will  not  recover.  You  will  judge  whether  you  can  go  to  the 
ball.  Tender  remembrances." 

The  doctor  came  at  half-past  eight,  and  though  he 
could  hold  out  no  hopes  of  improvement  he  thought 
death  was  not  imminent.  He  said  there  would  be 
changes  to  better  or  worse,  and  on  these  would  hang 
the  life  and  reason  of  the  patient. 

"  Far  better  that  he  should  die,"  were  his  last  words. 

Eugene  consigned  Pere  Goriot  to  the  care  of  Bian- 
chon,  and  went  to  Madame  de  Nucingen  with  the  sad 
news,  which  to  his  mind,  still  imbued  as  it  was  with 
tender  memories  of  his  home,  precluded  all  possibility 
of  amusement  for  a  daughter. 

"  Tell  her  to  go  to  the  ball  and  enjoy  herself  all  the 
same,"  said  Pere 'Goriot,  who  they  hoped  was  dozing, 
but  who  started  up  in  bed  when  he  saw  that  Rastignac 
was  going. 


Pere  G-oriot.  307 

The  young  man  entered  Delphine's  presence  with 
his  heart  full  of  grief  and  pity.  He  found  her  with 
her  toilette  made,  her  hair  dressed,  and  nothing  more 
to  be  done  than  to  put  on  her  ball-dress.  But  like  an 
artist's  final  work  upon  his  canvas,  the  finishing  touches 
took  more  time  than  the  picture  itself. 

"  What !  are  you  not  dressed  ?  "  she  said. 

"But,  Madame,  your  father  is  —  " 

"  Why  do  you  harp  upon  my  father?"  she  cried,  in- 
terrupting him.  "  You  need  not  teach  me  my  duty  to 
my  father.  I  have  known  my  father  for  a  long  time. 
Not  another  word,  Eugene ;  I  will  not  listen  to  you 
till  you  have  made  your  toilette.  Therese  has  laid  out 
everything  in  your  room.  My  carriage  is  at  the  door; 
take  it,  and  come  back  as  soon  as  possible.  We  can 
talk  about  my  father  as  we  are  driving  to  the  ball.  I 
wish  to  start  early,  for  if  we  are  caught  in  the  line  of 
carriages  it  may  be  midnight  before  we  get  there." 

«  Madame !  —  " 

"  Go,  go  !  not  another  word,"  she  cried,  running  into 
her  boudoir  for  a  necklace. 

"  Go,  Monsieur  Eugene  — go ! "  said  Therese,  "  or  you 
will  make  Madame  very  angry." 

So  saying,  she  pushed  the  young  man,  who  stood  dis- 
mayed and  silenced  by  this  elegant  parricide.  He  went 
away  and  dressed  himself,  filled  with  melancholy  and 
disheartening  reflections.  The  world  seemed  to  him 
like  an  ocean  of  slime,  in  which  a  man  sank  up  to  his 
throat  if  he  so  much  as  put  his  foot  into  it. 

"  Its  wickednesses  are  mean,  —  are  paltry,"  he  cried. 
"  Vautrin's  crimes  at  least  were  great." 

He  had  now  seen,  by  experience,  the  three  great 


308  Pere  Q-oriot. 

phases  of  society,  —  Obedience,  Struggle,  and  Revolt : 
Family-life,  the  World,  and  Vautrin.  He  dared  not 
make  his  choice  among  them.  Obedience  had  become 
to  him  stagnation ;  revolt  was  impossible ;  struggle 
false  and  uncertain.  He  thought  of  his  home  ;  he  re- 
membered the  pure  emotions  of  that  peaceful  life ;  his 
mind  went  back  to  the  years  passed  among  the  dear 
ones  who  fondly  loved  him.  He  said  to  himself  that 
those  who  conformed  in  all  things  to  the  natural 
laws  of  family  life  were  fully,  perfectly,  permanently 
happy. 

But  though  he  owned  these  things,  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  assert  them  to  Delphine.  Could  he  confess 
the  faith  of  purity  to  her  ?  Could  he  talk  to  her  of 
virtue  in  the  guise  of  love  ?  His  worldly  training  was 
already  bearing  fruit ;  his  love  was  selfishness.  His 
instinct  enabled  him  to  sound  the  inner  nature  of 
Delphine:  he  believed  her  capable  of  going  to  this 
ball  over  the  dead  body  of  her  father;  but  he  had  nei- 
ther the  strength  to  oppose  her  by  argument,  nor  the 
courage  to  displease  her,  nor  the  virtue  to  give  her  up. 
"  She  would  never  forgive  me  for  being  right  where 
she  was  bent  on  doing  wrong,"  was  his  reflection. 
Then  he  recalled  the  doctor's  words.  He  persuaded 
himself  that  Pere  Goriot  was  not  so  dangerously  ill  as 
he  had  thought;  he  multiplied  heartless  arguments 
that  he  might  justify  Delphine :  she  could  not  know 
her  father's  true  condition  ;  the  poor  old  man  himself 
would  send  her  to  the  ball  if  she  went  to  see  him.  He 
reflected  also  that  the  laws  of  social  life  are  absolute, 
and  make  no  allowances  for  differences  of  character,  or 
interests,  or  situations.  He  tried  to  deceive  himself, 


P£re  G-oriot,  309 

and  find  reasons  to  sacrifice  his  conscience  to  his  mis- 
tress. For  two  days  past  everything  within  him  and 
about  him  had  changed.  Woman  had  turned  the  cur- 
rent of  his  whole  existence;  home  and  its  ties  had 
paled  before  her  influence;  she  had  confiscated  all 
things  to  her  profit. 

"Tell  me  now,  how  is  my  father?"  said  Madame 
de  Nucingen,  when  he  came  back  dressed  for  the  ball. 

"  Very  ill,"  he  said.  "  If  you  would  give  me  a  proof 
of  your  affection,  you  would  let  me  take  you  to  him  at 
once." 

"  Well  —  yes  ; "  she  said ;  "  but  it  must  be  after  the 
ball.  Eugene,  be  good ;  don't  preach  to  me.  Come  ! 

They  drove  away.  Eugene  sat  silent  for  a  part  of 
the  way. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  listening  to  the  rattle  in  your  father's  throat," 
he  answered  in  a  tone  of  anger;  and  he  began  to  relate, 
with  the  fiery  eloquence  of  youth,  the  cruelty  to  which 
Madame  de  Restaud's  vanity  had  pushed  her,  the  last 
supreme  act  of  their  father's  self-devotion,  and  the  mor- 
tal cost  of  that  golden  robe  in  which  Anastasie  was 
now  about  to  appear.  Delphine  wept. 

"  But  it  will  make  me  ugly ;"  she  thought  —  and  her 
tears  dried  at  once.  "  I  will  go  and  nurse  my  father. 
I  will  stay  beside  his  pillow,"  she  said  aloud. 

"  Ah  !  now,  indeed,  thou  art  all  that  I  would  have 
thee  !  "  cried  Eugene. 

The  lamps  of  five  hundred  carriages  lighted  the 
approach  to  the  Hotel  de  Beauseant,  and  on  either 
side  of  the  illuminated  gateway  was  a  mounted  gen- 
darme. The  great  world  flocked  thither  in  such  crowds, 


310  Pere  Goriot. 

eager  to  gaze  on  this  great  lady  at  the  moment  of  her 
downfall,  that  the  ball-rooms  on  the  ground-floor  of 
the  Hotel  were  filled  when  Madame  de  Nucingen  and 
Rastignac  entered  them.  Since  the  famous  occasion 
when  a  whole  Court  rushed  to  see  la  grande  Made- 
moiselle, after  Louis  XIV.  had  torn  her  lover  from  her 
arms,  no  disaster  of  the  heart  had  excited  such  intense 
interest  as  this  of  Madame  de  Beauseant.  On  this 
occasion  the  daughter  of  the  semi-royal  house  of 
Burgundy  rose  superior  to  her  woe,  and  swayed  to 
her  latest  moment  that  world  whose  homage  she  had 
valued  only  as  incense  to  be  offered  on  the  altar  of 
her  friend.  The  loveliest  women  in  Paris  adorned  the 
rooms  with  their  dresses  and  their  smiles.  The  most 
distinguished  men  of  the  Court,  —  ambassadors,  minis- 
ters, heroes  illustrious  in  a  hundred  ways,  and  covered 
with  crosses,  medals,  and  ribbons  of  all  orders,  —  pressed 
around  their  hostess.  The  great  world  had  arrayed 
itself  as  if  to  make  a  last  obeisance  to  its  sovereign. 
The  music  of  the  orchestra  floated  in  tender  harmonies 
along  the  gilded  ceilings  of  the  palace  now  desolate 
for  its  queen.  Madame  de  Beauseant  stood  within  the 
doorway  of  the  first  salon,  receiving  those  who  called 
themselves  her  friends.  Dressed  in  white,  without  an 
ornament,  and  with  simply  braided  hair,  she  appeared 
calm,  and  exhibited  neither  grief  nor  pride,  nor  any 
pretence  of  joy.  No  one  saw  into  her  heart.  She 
seemed  a  marble  Niobe.  The  smiles  she  gave  to  her 
intimate  friends  had  occasional  gleams  of  irony;  but 
to  all  present  she  appeared  unchanged,  and  bore  her- 
self so  truly  the  same  as  when  happiness  shed  its  halo 
round  her  that  the  most  unfeeling  person  in  that  crowd 


Pere  Goriot.  311 

admired  her,  as  the  Roman  youths  admired  the  gladia- 
tors who  smiled  as  they  died. 

"  I  feared  you  might  not  come,"  said  Madame  de 
Beauseant  to  Rastignac. 

Taking  her  words  for  a  reproach,  he  answered  with 
emotion,  "Madame,  I  have  come  to  be  the  last  to 
leave  you." 

"That  is  well,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand.  "You 
are  perhaps  the  only  person  present  whom  I  can  trust. 
My  friend,  when  you  love,  let  it  be  a  woman  whom 
you  can  love  forever.  Never  forsake  a  woman !  " 

She  took  Rastignac's  arm,  and  led  him  to  a  sofa  in 
the  card-room. 

"  Go  for  me,"  she  said,  "  to  the  Marquis  d'Adjuda. 
Jacques,  my  footman,  will  tell  you  where  he  is  to  be 
found,  and  will  give  you  a  note  for  him.  It  asks  for 
my  letters.  He  will  give  them  up  to  you,  —  I  trust  he 
will.  If  you  obtain  them,  go  up  to  my  rooms  on  your 
return  ;  they  will  tell  me  when  you  are  there." 

She  rose  and  went  forward  to  greet  the  Duchesse 
de  Langeais,  who  was  entering  the  salon.  Rastignac 
did  as  he  was  told.  He  asked  for  the  Marquis  d'Ad- 
juda at  the  Hotel  Rochefide,  where  he  was  to  pass  the 
evening,  and  found  him.  The  Marquis  took  him  to 
his  own  house,  and  gave  him  a  casket,  saying,  "  They 
are  all  there."  He  seemed  to  wish  to  say  more ;  per- 
haps to  question  Eugene  about  the  viscountess, 
possibly  to  own  himself  already  in  despair  about  his 
marriage  (as,  in  fact,  he  became  soon  after) ;  but  a  ray 
of  pride  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  he  had  the  melancholy 
courage  to  triumph  over  his  better  feelings.  "Tell 
her  nothing  about  me,  my  dear  Eugene,"  he  said.  He 


312  Pere  G-oriot. 

pressed  Rastignac's  hand  with  a  grasp  of  affection  and 
regret,  and  made  a  sign  that  he  should  leave  him. 

Eugene  returned  to  the  Hotel  de  Beauseant,  and 
was  shown  up  to  his  cousin's  chamber,  which  was 
strewn  with  preparations  for  a  journey.  He  sat  down 
near  the  fire  holding  the  cedar  casket,  and  fell  into  a 
state  of  the  deepest  melancholy.  For  him,  Madame 
de  Beausdant  took  on  the  proportions  of  a  goddess  of 
the  Iliad. 

"  Ah !  my  friend,"  she  said,  coming  in  and  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  turned  and  saw  her  in  tears.  Pier  eyes  were 
raised,  the  hand  upon  his  shoulder  trembled,  the  other 
was  lifted  up.  Suddenly  she  took  the  casket,  put  it 
on  the  fire,  and  watched  it  burn. 

"They  are  dancing —  they  came  early —  Death 
may  keep  me  waiting  long.  Hush,  dear  friend,"  she 
said,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  lips  of  Rastignac  as  he 
was  about  to  answer.  "To-night  I  take  my  leave  of 
Paris  and  the  world.  At  five  o'clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing I  go  to  bury  myself  in  the  solitude  of  Normandy. 
Since  three  o'clock  to-day  I  have  made  my  prepara- 
tions, signed  papers,  transacted  business.  I  had  no 
one  I  could  send  to  —  "  She  paused.  "  It  was  cer- 
tain he  would  be  at  —  "  She  stopped  again,  overcome 
with  emotion.  At  such  times  it  is  pain  to  speak ; 
certain  words  it  is  impossible  to  utter.  "  You  see," 
she  resumed,  "  that  I  counted  upon  you  for  this  last 
service.  I  should  like  to  give  you  a  remembrance, — 
something  to  make  you  think  of  me.  I  shall  often 
think  of  you;  you  have  seemed  to  me  kind  and  noble, 
fresh  and  true,  in  this  world  where  these  qualities  are 


P£re  G-oriot.  313 

rare.  See,"  she  said,  casting  a  glance  about  the  room, 
"here  is  the  box  in  which  I  have  always  kept  my 
gloves.  Every  time  that  I  took  them  from  it  —  for 
a  ball,  an  opera  —  I  felt  myself  beautiful,  for  I  was 
happy.  I  never  opened  it  that  I  did  not  leave  within 
it  some  smiling  thought.  Much  of  myself  is  in  that 
box,  —  much  of  a  Madame  de  Beauseant,  who  is  gone 
forever.  Accept  it.  I  will  take  care  that  it  is  carried 
to  your  rooms  in  the  Rue  d'  Artois.  —  Madame  de 
Nucingen  looks  well  to-night.  Treat  her  tenderly. 
If  we  never  meet  again,  dear  friend,  be  sure  that  I 
shall  pray  for  you,  who  have  been  very  good  to  me. 
Let  us  go  down  now ;  I  would  not  have  them  think  that 
I  have  wept.  I  have  an  eternity  before  me,  where  I 
shall  be  alone,  —  where  no  one  will  ask  whether  I  smile 
or  weep.  Let  me  give  a  last  look  round  my  chamber." 

She  stopped,  hid  her  eyes  for  a  moment  with  her 
hand,  then  bathed  them  with  cold  water,  and  took  the 
student's  arm.  "  Let  us  go,"  she  said. 

Rastignac  had  never  in  his  life  been  so  much  moved 
as  he  now  was  by  the  grief  thus  nobly  kept  under  con- 
trol. When  they  reached  the  ball-rooms,  Madame  de 
Beauseant  made  the  circuit  of  her  guests  leaning  on 
her  cousin's  arm,  —  a  last  and  thoughtful  act  of  kind- 
ness bestowed  by  this  gracious  woman.  He  soon  saw 
the  two  sisters,  Madame  de  Restaud  and  Madame  de 
Nucingen.  The  former  was  blazing  in  diamonds, — 
which  no  doubt  burned  her  as  they  blazed,  conscious, 
as  she  was,  that  she  was  wearing  them  for  the  last 
time.  Though  she  bore  herself  proudly  and  was  ex- 
quisitely dressed,  she  seemed  unable  to  meet  the  eye 
of  her  husband.  This  sight  did  not  make  Rastignac 


314  Pere  Goriot. 

less  bitter  at  heart.  If  Vautrin  had  appeared  to  him 
in  the  Italian  colonel,  he  now  saw  through  the  glitter- 
ing diamonds  of  the  two  sisters  the  neglected  death- 
bed of  Pere  Goriot. 

His  depression  was  noticed  by  Madame  de  Beauseant, 
who  attributed  it  to  another  cause,  and  released  his 
arm. 

"  Go  now,"  she  said ;  "I  would  not  deprive  you  of  a 
pleasure." 

Eugene  was  soon  claimed  by  Delphine,  charmed 
with  the  sensation  she  had  created,  and  anxious  to 
lay  at  his  feet  the  homage  she  was  receiving  from 
the  great  world,  in  which  she  now  might  hope  for 
adoption. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Nasie  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  She  has  discounted  even  her  father's  death,"  he 
answered. 

About  four  in  the  morning  the  crowd  began  to 
thin,  and  presently  the  music  censed.  The  Duchesse 
de  Langeais  and  Rastignac  at  last  stood  alone  in  the 
great  ball-room.  The  viscountess,  expecting  to  find 
only  Rastignac,  came  in  after  taking  leave  of  Monsieur 
de  Beauseant,  who  had  gone  to  bed,  saying,  — 

"  Indeed  you  are  wrong,  my  dear,  to  shut  yourself 
up,  —  at  your  age  !  Why  not  remain  among  us  ?  " 

On  seeing  the  duchess,  Madame  de  Beauseant  started 
and  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  I  guess  what  you  are  about  to  do,  Clara,"  said 
Madame  de  Langeais.  "  You  are  going  to  leave  us, 
and  you  will  never  return.  But  you  shall  not  go 
without  hearing  what  I  have  to  say.  We  must  not 
part  misunderstanding  each  other." 


Pere  Goriot.  315 

She  took  her  friend  by  the  arm  and  led  her  into 
a  smaller  salon.  There,  looking  at  her  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  she  pressed  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her 
cheeks. 

"  We  must  not  part  coldly,  dear,"  she  said ;  "  it 
would  make  me  too  unhappy.  You  may  rely  on  me 
as  you  would  upon  yourself.  You  have  been  noble 
this  evening :  I  feel  that  I  am  not  unworthy  of  you, 
and  I  wish  to  prove  it.  I  have  not  always  treated 
you  as  I  should  have  done  :  forgive  me,  dear.  I  take 
back  every  word  that  may  have  pained  you,  —  would 
that  I  could  unsay  them  altogether  !  We  are  passing 
through  the  same  sorrow  ;  I  know  not  which  of  us  is 
the  most  unhappy.  Monsieur  de  Montriveau  was  not 
here  to-night :  you  know  what  that  means.  All  who 
saw  you  at  this  ball,  Clara,  will  never  forget  you. 
For  myself,  —  I  shall  make  a  last  effort :  if  it  fails,  I 
shall  go  into  a  convent.  And  you?  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"  To  Normandy,  —  to  Courcelles :  to  love,  to  pray, 
till  it  shall  please  God  to  take  me  from  the  world." 
Then,  with  a  break  in  her  voice,  Madame  de  Beau- 
seant  called  to  Eugene,  remembering  that  he  was 
waiting  for  her  in  the  great  salon. 

He  knelt  beside  her,  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
it. 

"Antoinette,  adieu,"  she  said;  "be  happy.  Mon- 
sieur de  Rastignac,  you  are  happy,  —  for  you  are 
young,  and  can  still  have  faith.  Here,  where  I  re- 
nounce the  world,  I  have  beside  me  —  as  some  rare 
death-beds  have  had  —  two  hearts  that  feel  for  me 
with  sacred  and  sincere  affection." 


316  Pere  Goriot. 

Rastignac  left  the  house  about  five  o'clock,  having 
put  Madame  de  Beauseant  into  her  travelling-carriage 
and  received  her  last  farewells  mingled  with  tears. 
He  walked  home  to  the  Maison  Vauquer  in  the  damp 
dawn  of  a  cold  morning.  He  was  making  progress  in 
his  education. 

"We  can't  save  poor  old  Goriot,"  said  Bianchon,  when 
Rastignac  entered  the  room  of  his  sick  neighbor. 

"  Bianchon,"  said  Rastignac,  looking  down  upon  the 
old  man,  who  lay  asleep,  "  keep  to  the  humble  destiny 
to  which  you  limit  your  ambition.  For  me,  —  I  am  in 
hell,  and  I  must  stay  there.  Whatever  evil  they  may 
tell  you  of  the  world,  believe  it.  No  Juvenal  that 
ever  lived  could  reveal  the  infamies  concealed  under 
its  gold  and  jewels." 

Later  in  the  day  Rastignac  was  awakened  by  Bian- 
chon, who  being  obliged  to  go  out,  requested  him  to 
take  charge  of  Pere  Goriot,  who  had  grown  much 
worse  during  the  morning. 

*' Poor  old  fellow!  He  can't  live  two  days,  —  per- 
haps not  more  than  six  hours,"  said  the  medical  stu- 
dent ;  "  though  of  course  we  must  do  all  we  can  for 
him.  We  shall  have  to  try  certain  remedies  that  cost 
money.  You  and  I  can  take  care  of  him,  —  but  how 
are  we  to  pay  for  the  things  ?  I  have  n't  a  sou,  myself. 
I  have  turned  out  his  pockets  and  searched  his  cup- 
boards —  nothing !  absolutely  zero  !  I  asked  him  in  a 
lucid  moment,  and  he  told  me  he  had  not  a  farthing. 
How  much  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  twenty  francs,"  said  Rastignac ;  "  but  I 
will  go  and  play  them,  and  win  more." 


Pere  Goriot.  317 

"  Suppose  you  lose  ?  " 

"  Then  I  will  ask  money  from  his  sons-in-law  and 
his  daughters." 

"  And  suppose  they  won't  give  it  to  you  ? "  said 
Bianchon.  "  However,  the  important  thing  now  is 
not  to  get  the  money,  but  to  wrap  the  poor  fellow  in 
hot  mustard,  from  his  feet  up  to  the  middle  of  his 
thighs.  If  he  cries  out,  so  much  the  better :  it  will 
show  there  's  a  chance  for  him.  You  know  how  to 
manage  it,  and  Christophe  will  help  you.  I  will  stop 
at  the  apothecary's  and  make  myself  responsible  for 
the  things  we  may  want.  What  a  pity  he  could  not 
have  been  taken  to  the  hospital !  He  would  have 
been  much  better  off  there.  Come  on,  and  let  me 
give  you  the  directions;  and  don't  leave  him  till  I 
get  back." 

The  two  young  men  went  into  the  room  where  the 
old  man  lay.  Eugene  was  shocked  by  the  great 
change  that  a  few  hours  had  made  in  the  weak, 
blanched,  and  distorted  features. 

"  Well,  Papa !  "  he  said,  leaning  over  the  bed. 

Pere  Goriot  raised  his  dim  eyes  and  looked  atten- 
tively at  him,  but  did  not  recognize  him.  The  student 
could  not  bear  the  sight,  and  turned  away  weeping. 

"  Bianchon,"  he  said, u  ought  there  not  to  be  curtains 
to  his  window?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  atmospheric  conditions  can't  affect  him 
now.  It  would  be  a  good  sign  if  he  felt  either  heat  or 
cold.  Still,  we  must  keep  up  a  little  fire,  to  heat  the 
mustard  and  prepare  his  drinks.  I  '11  send  you  some 
fagots,  which  will  do  till  we  can  buy  wood.  Last 
night  and  yesterday  I  burned  up  yours,  and  the  poor 


318  Pere  Goriot. 

old  fellow's  bark  as  well.  It  was  so  dam]),  and  the 
walls  were  dripping  with  moisture.  I  could  hardly 
keep  the  floor  dry.  Christophe  swept  it  up,  but  it  is 
as  bad  as  a  stable.  I  have  been  burning  juniper,  the 
room  smelt  so  infernally." 

"Good  God!"  said  Rastignac.  "Think  of  his 
daughters  ! " 

"Now,  if  he  wants  anything  to  drink,  give  him 
this,"  said  the  medical  student,  showing  a  large  white 
pitcher.  "  If  he  complains  of  his  stomach  being  hot 
and  hard,  call  Christophe,  and  he  will  help  you  to  give 
him  —  you  know.  If  he  should  get  excited  and  insist 
on  talking,  or  be  a  little  out  of  his  head,  don't  check 
him.  It  is  not  a  bad  symptom.  But  send  Christophe 
at  once  to  the  hospital ;  and  cither  the  surgeon  or  my 
comrade  and  I  will  come  and  apply  the  actual  cautery. 
This  morning,  while  you  were  asleep,  we  had  a  great 
consultation  here,  between  a  pupil  of  Dr.  Gall  the 
phrenologist,  the  head-surgeon  of  the  Hotel  Dien, 
and  our  own  chief  from  the  Cochin  Hospital.  They 
thought  there  were  some  curious  symptoms  in  the 
case ;  and  we  are  going  to  make  notes  on  its  progress, 
in  hopes  of  throwing  light  on  some  important  scientific 
points.  One  of  the  doctors  thinks  that  if  the  pressure 
of  the  serum  should  be  more  upon  one  organ  than  upon 
any  other,  we  may  see  some  singular  developments. 
So  in  case  he  should  begin  to  talk,  listen  to  what  he 
says,  and  note  what  kind  of  ideas  his  mind  runs  on, — 
whether  memory  is  all  he  has  left,  or  whether  he  still 
has  his  reasoning  powers ;  whether  he  is  thinking  of 
material  things,  or  only  of  feelings;  whether  he  is 
calculating  as  to  the  future,  or  only  reverting  to  the 


Pere  Goriot.  319 

past.  In  short,  give  us  an  exact  report.  It  is  possible 
that  the  invasion  of  the  brain  may  be  complete,  —  all 
over  it;  in  that  case,  he  will  die  imbecile,  as  he  is  at 
this  moment.  The  course  of  an  illness  like  this  is 
often  very  singular.  If  the  rush  were  here,"  continued 
Bianchon,  putting  his  finger  upon  the  occiput,  "the 
case  might  show  some  very  remarkable  phenomena. 
The  brain  might  then  recover  some  of  its  faculties,  and 
death  would  be  slow  in  coming.  The  matter  that 
presses  on  the  brain  might  then  be  absorbed  through 
channels  which  we  could  only  discover  in  the  post- 
mortem. There  is  an  old  man  now  in  the  Hospital 
for  Incurables,  with  whom  the  matter  in  question  is 
slowly  passing  away  down  the  spinal  column.  He 
suffers  horribly,  —  but  he  lives." 

"Did  they  enjoy  themselves?"  said  Pere  Goriot, 
who  now  recognized  Eugene. 

"  He  thinks  of  nothing  but  his  daughters,"  said 
Bianchon.  He  said  to  me  over  and  over  again  during 
the  night,  '  they  are  dancing,'  '  she  has  got  her  gown.' 
He  called  them  by  their  names.  He  made  me  cry  — 
the  devil  take  me !  —  by  his  piteous  way  of  saying 
'  Delphine  !  my  little  Delphine  !  Xasie ! '  Upon  my 
word  of  honor,"  said  the  medical  student,  "  it  was 
enough  to  make  any  fellow  shed  tears." 

"Delphine?"  said  the  old  man.  "Is  she  there? 
Did  you  say  so?"  And  his  eyes  glanced  wildly  at 
the  walls  and  doorway. 

"  I  '11  go  and  tell  Sylvie  to  get  the  mustard,"  said 
Bianchon.  "  It  is  a  good  time  now." 


320  Pere  Goriot. 


XVIII. 

RASTIGNAC  remained  alone  with  the  old  man,  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  aged 
head  now  coming  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

"  Madame  de  Beauseant  has  fled,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  Pere  Goriot  dies :  natures  that  have  deep  affec- 
tions cannot  abide  long  in  this  evil  world.  How 
should  noble  minds  live,  allied  to  a  society  that  is 
mean,  petty,  and  superficial  ?  " 

Scenes  of  that  splendid  ball  rose  up  in  awful  con- 
trast to  this  bed  of  death.  Bianehon  reappeared. 

"  Look  here,  Eugene ! "  he  said.  "  I  have  just  seen 
our  surgeon-in-chief,  and  I  have  run  back  to  tell  you. 
If  he  should  recover  his  reason,  if  he  should  talk, 
wrap  him  in  mustard,  from  his  neck  half-way  down 
his  loins,  and  send  somebody  at  once  for  me." 

"  Dear  Bianehon  ! "  said  Eugene. 

"  Oh,  it  's  a  case  of  great  scientific  interest ! " 
exclaimed  the  medical  student,  with  the  fervor  of  a 
neophyte. 

"  Alas  !  "  cried  Eugene  ;  "  am  I  the  only  one  to  care 
for  the  poor  old  man  out  of  affection  ?" 

"  You  would  not  say  that,  if  you  had  seen  me  this 
morning,"  said  Bianehon,  not  offended.  "  The  other 
doctors  thought  of  him  only  as  a  case;  but  I  thought 
also  of  the  poor  patient,  my  dear  fellow." 


Pere  Goriot.  321 

He  went  away,  leaving  his  friend  alone  with  the  old 
man.  Eugene  dreaded  a  crisis,  which  was  not  long  in 
coming. 

"  Ah  !  is  that  you,  my  dear  boy  ?  "  asked  Pere  Goriot, 
recognizing  Eugene. 

"  Are  you  better  ? "  said  the  student,  taking  his 
hand. 

"  Yes ;  my  head  was  in  a  vice,  —  but  it  is  free  now. 
Did  you  see  my  daughters  ?  Will  they  be  here  soon  ? 
They  will  come  as  soon  as  they  know  that  I  am  ill.  I 
wish  my  room  were  clean.  There  was  a  young  man 
here  last  night  who  burned  up  all  my  fuel." 

"  I  hear  Christophe  bringing  up  some  wood  which 
that  young  man  has  sent  you." 

"  Good,  —  but  who  is  to  pay  for  the  wood  ?  I  have 
no  money.  I  have  given  it  all  away,  —  all !  I  must 
come  on  charity.  —  Was  the  dress  of  gold  tissue 
very  handsome? —  Ah,  how  I  suffer!  Thank  you, 
Christophe,  my  good  man.  God  will  reward  you;  I 
have  nothing  now." 

"I  will  pay  you  and  Sylvie  handsomely  for  all  you 
do,"  whispered  Eugene  to  the  Savoyard. 

"  My  daughters  said  they  would  be  here,  did  they 
not,  Christophe?  Go  to  them  again;  I  will  give  you 
a  five-franc  piece.  Tell  them  that  I  am  not  very  well ; 
that  I  should  like  to  see  them,  —  to  kiss  them,  before  I 
die.  But  don't  alarm  them." 

Christophe  went  off  on  a  sign  from  Rastignnc. 

"  They  will  come,"  resumed  the  old  man.     "I  know 

them.     Dear,  kind  Delphine,  —  if  I  die,  what  sorrow  I 

shall  cause  her;  and  Nasie  too.     I  don't  want  to  die. 

To  die,  my  good  Eugene,  is  —  not  to  see  them.    There, 

21 


322  Pere  Goriot. 

where  I  am  going,  how  lonely  I  shall  be  !  Hell,  to  a 
father,  is  to  be  without  his  children  •  I  have  served 
my  apprenticeship  in  it  ever  since  they  married.  My 
heaven  was  in  our  home,  —  Rue  Jussienne.  Tell  me, 
if  I  go  to  heaven,  can  I  come  back  in  spirit  and  hover 
near  them?  I  have  heard  of  such  things;  are  they 
true? —  I  see  them  now,  as  they  were  in  the  Hue 
Jussienne.  '  Good  morning,  Papa,'  they  used  to  say. 
I  took  them  on  my  knee  and  played  with  them,  —  a 
thousand  little  tricks:  they  caressed  me  so  prettily. 
We  used  to  breakfast  together,  to  dine  together.  Ah, 
I  was  a  father  then !  I  was  happy  in  my  children. 
They  never  reasoned  then;  they  knew  nothing  of  the 
world,  —  they  only  loved  me.  Oh,  my  God  !  why 
could  I  not  have  kept  my  little  ones? —  I  suffer  — 
my  head!  my  head  !  Forgive  me,  my  children,  but  I 
am  in  such  pain —  no,  this  must  be  anguish  ;  for  you 
have  hardened  me  to  pain.  —  If  I  could  but  hold  them 
in  my  arms,  I  should  not  suffer  so.  Are  they  coming? 
Will  they  come  ?  Christophe  is  so  stupid.  I  ought  to 
have  gone  myself.  —  You  saw  them  at  the  ball. 
They  did  not  know  that  I  was  ill,  did  they?  they 
would  not  have  danced,  poor  darlings.  Oh !  I  must 
not  be  ill,  —  they  need  me  :  their  fortunes  are  in  dan- 
ger. Ah!  to  what  husbands  they  are  bound!  Save 
me  !  cure  me  !  —  Oh,  I  suffer,  suffer !  —  I  must  be 
cured,  for  they  need  money,  and  I  know  where  to  make 
it.  I  am  going  to  Odessa;  I  shall  make  my  pastes 
there.  I  'm  shrewd :  I  shall  make  millions.  —  Oh, 
I  suffer  too  much  !  —  too  much  !  " 

He  was  silent  a  few  moments,  and  seemed  to  be 
rallying  all  his  strength  to  bear  the  pain. 


Pere  Goriot.  323 

"  If  they  were  here  I  would  not  complain,"  he  said. 
"  Why  should  I  complain  if  they  were  here  ?  " 

He  dozed  off  lightly.  The  sleep  lasted  some  time. 
Christophe  returned,  and  Rastignac,  who  thought  Pere 
Goriot  had  fallen  back  into  a  stupor,  let  him  give  an 
account  of  his  mission. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  first  of  all,  I  went  to  find 
Madame  la  comtesse ;  but  I  was  told  I  could  not 
speak  with  her  because  she  was  settling  some  business 
with  her  husband.  I  said  that  I  must  see  somebody ; 
so  Monsieur  de  Restaud  came  himself,  and  he  talked 
just  this  way.  He  said  :  « Well,  if  Monsieur  Goriot  is 
dying,  it  is  the  best  thing  he  can  do.  I  want  Madame 
de  Restaud  to  settle  some  very  important  business,  and 
she  can't  go  till  it  is  finished.'  He  looked  very  angry, 
he  did.  I  was  just  going  away  when  Madame  came 
through  a  side  door  into  the  antechamber  and  said  to 
me,  '  Christophe,  tell  my  father  that  I  am  arranging 
important  matters  with  my  husband,  and  that  I  cannot 
leave  at  present ;  but  as  soon  as  I  can  I  will  go  to 
him.'  As  for  Madame  la  baronne,  that  was  another 
matter.  I  could  n't  see  her,  and  I  could  n't  get  word 
to  her.  Her  maid  said,  '  Madame  did  not  get  home 
from  a  ball  till  half-past  four,  and  she  's  asleep.  If  I 
wake  her  she  will  scold  me.  I  will  tell  her  that  her 
father  is  worse  when  she  rings  her  bell.  It  is  always 
soon  enough  to  tell  bad  news. '  I  begged  her  and 
begged  her ;  but  it  was  no  use.  Then  I  asked  to  see 
Monsieur  de  Nucingen,  but  he  was  out." 

"  So  neither  of  his  daughters  will  come  to  him!" 
cried  Rastignac.  "  I  will  write  to  both  of  them." 

"  Neither !  "  cried  the  old  man,  rising   in  his  bed. 


324  Pere  Goriot. 

"  They  are  busy  ;  they  sleep  ;  they  will  not  come.  I 
knew  it.  We  must  die,  to  know  what  our  children 
are.  Friend,  never  marry ;  never  have  children.  You 
give  them  life,  —  they  will  give  you  death.  You  bring 
them  into  the  world,  —  they  drive  you  out  of  it.  No  ! 
they  will  not  come.  I  have  known  it  these  ten  years. 
I  have  said  it  to  myself,  but  I  dared  not  believe  it." 

Tears  welled  up  to  the  red  rims  of  his  poor  eyes,  but 
they  did  not  fall. 

"  Ah,  if  I  were  rich  ;  if  I  had  kept  my  fortune  ;  if 
I  had  not  given  them  all,  all,  —  they  would  be  here, 
they  would  lick  my  cheeks  with  kisses.  I  should  live 
in  a  mansion  ;  I  should  have  a  fine  chamber,  servants, 
a  fire.  They  would  be  all  in  tears,  husbands  and 
children.  All  would  be  mine.  —  But  now,  nothing ; 
I  have  nothing.  Money  gives  all  things,  even  chil- 
dren. —  Oh,  my  money  !  where  is  it  ?  If  I  had  treas- 
ures to  bequeath,  they  would  nurse  me,  they  would 
watch  me.  I  should  hear  them  ;  I  should  see  them. 
Ah,  my  son  !  my  only  child  !  I  would  rather  be  as  I  am, 
forsaken  and  destitute  :  if  a  poor  creature  is  loved,  he 
knows  that  love  is  true.  —  But,  no,  no!  if  I  were  rich 
I  should  see  them.  My  God !  who  knows  ?  They  have 
hearts  of  stone,  —  both,  both  !  I  loved  them  too  well; 
they  gave  me  no  love  in  return.  A  father  should 
always  be  rich ;  he  should  curb  his  children  like  vicious 
horses.  But  I  —  I  was  on  my  knees  to  them !  —  Ah, 
cruel  hearts  !  they  fitly  crown  their  conduct  to  me  for 
ten  years  past.  If  you  knew  the  tender  care  they  took 
of  me  the  first  year  of  their  marriage  !  —  oh,  I  suffer 
a  martyrdom  of  pain! —  I  had  just  given  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  to  each,  and  neither  they  nor  their 


Pere  Goriot.  325 

husbands  could  be  rude  to  me.  They  welcomed  me. 
It  was  '  My  good  Papa,'  '  My  dear  Papa.'  My  place 
was  laid  at  their  table ;  I  dined  with  their  husbands ;  I 
was  treated  with  respect.  Why  ?  Because  I  had  said 
nothing  of  my  affairs  ;  because  a  man  who  gives  away 
a  million  and  a  half  of  francs  must  have  something 
left  to  leave :  he  is  a  man  to  be  thought  of.  And  so 
they  paid  me  attentions,  —  but  it  was  for  my  money. 
The  world  is  not  noble :  I  saw  it  all.  They  took  me 
to  the  theatre  in  their  carriages  ;  I  went  if  I  pleased  to 
their  parties.  They  called  themselves  my  daughters ; 
they  acknowledged  me  to  be  their  father.  Ah,  I 
have  my  sight ;  I  saw  through  it  all,  —  nothing  escaped 
me;  it  struck  home  and  pierced  my  heart:  I  knew 
that  all  was  a  pretence.  —  But  the  evil  was  without 
remedy.  I  was  less  at  my  ease  dining  with  them  than 
at  the  table  downstairs.  I  was  dull ;  I  could  say 
nothing.  These  fashionable  people  whispered  to  my 
sons-in  law,  *  Who  is  that,  Monsieur? '  '  The  papa 
with  the  money-bngs.'  '  Ah,  the  devil ! '  they  cried,  and 
looked  at  me  with  the  respect  due  to  wealth.  —  My 
head,  my  head  !  I  suffer,  Eugene  !  I  suffer !  It  is  my 
death-struggle." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  continued  :  "  But  it 
is  nothing,  nothing  compared  to  the  first  look  Anastasie 
gave  me,  to  make  me  feel  I  had  said  an  ignorant  thing 
which  mortified  her.  That  look  !  it  bled  me  from 
every  vein.  I  was  ignorant ;  yes,  but  one  thing  I 
knew  too  well,  —  there  was  no  place  for  me  among 
the  living.  The  next  day  I  went  to  Delphine  to  con- 
sole me  ;  and  there  I  did  an  awkward  thing  which 
made  her  angry.  I  went  nearly  out  of  my  mind ; 


326  Pere  Goriot. 

for  eight  days  I  was  beside  myself,  not  knowing 
what  to  do :  I  was  afraid  to  go  and  see  them,  lest 
they  should  speak  their  mind  to  me.  And  so  it  came 
to  pass  that  I  was  turned  from  their  doors.  —  My 
God!  thou  who  hast  known  the  sufferings  and  the 
misery  I  have  endured  !  who  hast  counted  the  stabs 
that  I  have  received  throughout  the  years  which  have 
changed  and  whitened  and  withered  me  !  why  dost 
thou  let  me  suffer  so  horribly  to-day  ?  Have  I  not  ex- 
piated the  crime  of  loving  them  too  well?  —  they  have 
punished  it  themselves ;  they  have  tortured  me  with 
hot  irons !  —  Ah,  fathers  are  fools  !  I  loved  them 
so  well  that  I  went  back  like  a  gambler  to  his  play. 
My  daughters  were  my  vice,  —  my  mistresses.  They 
wanted  this  and  that,  —  laces,  jewels,  —  their  waiting- 
women  told  me ;  and  I  gave  that  I  might  buy  a  wel- 
come. But  all  the  same  they  tutored  me  about  my 
behavior  in  their  world :  they  let  me  see  they  were 
ashamed  of  me." 

His  voice  sank,  then  rose  again  :  "  Oh,  I  suffer ! 
The  doctors !  where  are  they  ?  If  they  would  split 
my  head  open  with  an  axe,  I  should  suffer  less.  — 
Send  for  them,  send  for  my  daughters,  —  Anastasie, 
Delphine  !  I  must  see  them!  Send  the  gendarmes; 
use  force !  Justice  is  on  my  side ;  all  is  on  my  side, 
—  nature,  laws!  The  nation  will  perish  if  fathers  are 
trodden  under  foot  ;  society,  the  world,  —  all  rest 
upon  fatherhood  :  they  will  crumble  to  nothing  if 
children  do  not  love  their  fathers.  Oh,  to  see  them ! 
to  hear  them !  no  matter  what  they  say  to  me ;  their 
voices  would  calm  me,  —  my  Delphine  especially. 
But  when  they  come,  tell  them  not  to  look  at  me  so 


Pere  Goriot.  827 

coldly.  Ah,  my  friend,  my  good  Eugene  !  do  you 
know  what  it  is  to  see  the  golden  glance  of  love 
change  to  leaden  gray  ?  Since  that  day,  when  their 
eyes  no  longer  lightened  up  for  me,  my  life  has  been 
an  arctic  winter ;  grief  has  been  my  portion  and  I 
have  eaten  my  fill  of  it.  I  have  lived  only  to  be  in- 
sulted and  humiliated.  Yet  I  loved  them  so  much 
that  I  swallowed  the  affronts  each  shameful  pleasure 
cost  me.  A  father  hiding  himself!  waiting  in  the 
streets  to  see  his  child  !  —  I  have  given  them  all  my 
life  :  they  will  not  give  me  one  hour  to-day.  I  thirst, 
I  burn  !  they  will  not  come  to  ease  my  death,  —  for 
I  am  dying ;  I  feel  it.  Do  they  know  what  it  is  to 
trample  on  the  corpse  of  a  father  ?  There  is  a  God  in 
heaven  ;  he  will  avenge  us,  whether  we  will  or  no.  — 
Oh,  they  will  come !  Come,  my  darlings !  a  kiss, 
a  last  kiss!  —  the  viaticum  of  your  father.  I  go  to 
God,  and  I  will  tell  him  you  have  been  good  to 
me  ;  I  will  plead  for  you,  —  for  you  are  innocent ; 
yes,  Eugene,  they  are  innocent.  The  fault  was  mine. 
I  taught  them  to  tread  me  underfoot.  Divine  justice 
sees  the  truth  and  will  not  condemn  them.  I  abdi- 
cated my  rights ;  I  neglected  my  duty ;  I  abased 
myself  in  their  eyes.  The  noblest  natures  would  be 
corrupted  by  such  weakness.  I  am  justly  punished  : 
my  children  were  good,  and  I  have  spoiled  them  ; 
on  my  head  be  their  sins.  I  alone  am  guilty ;  but 
guilty  through  love.  —  Their  voices  would  still  my 
heart.  —  I  hear  them  :  they  come !  They  will 
come  ;  the  law  requires  them  to  see  their  father 
die,  —  the  law  is  on  my  side.  Write  to  them  that 
I  have  millions  to  bequeath.  It  is  true,  upon  my 


328  Pere  Groriot. 

honor.  I  am  going  to  Odessa  to  make  Italian  pastes. 
I  know  what  I  am  about.  It  is  a  great  project, — 
millions  to  make,  and  no  one  has  yet  thought  of  it. 
Transportation  does  not  injure  pastes  as  it  does  wheat 
and  flour.  Yes,  millions!  you  may  say  millions, — 
avarice  will  bring  them.  —  Well,  even  so,  I  shall  see 
them  !  —  I  want  my  daughters  ;  I  made  them  ;  they 
are  mine!"  he  cried  wildly,  rising  in  his  bed,  his  dis- 
hevelled white  hair  giving  to  his  head  a  look  of  un- 
utterable menace. 

"  Dear  Pere  Goriot,  lie  down  again,"  said  Eugene. 
"As  soon  as  Bianchon  comes  back  I  will  go  myself  and 
fetch  them,  if  they  do  not  come — " 

"  If  they  do  not  come !  "  sobbed  the  old  man ;  "  but 
I  shall  be  dead!  dead,  in  a  rush  of  madness  —  mad- 
ness! I  feel  it  coming.  At  this  moment  I  see  my 
life.  I  am  a  dupe.  They  do  not  love  me,  —  they 
never  loved  me.  If  they  have  not  come,  it  means 
that  they  will  not  come.  The  longer  they  delay,  the 
less  they  will  1'esolve  to  give  me  this  last  joy.  I  know 
them.  They  have  never  divined  my  sorrows,  nor  my 
wants,  nor  my  pains :  why  should  they  divine  my 
death  ?  They  have  never  even,  entered  into  the  secret 
of  my  tenderness  for  them. —  Yes,  I  see  it  all.  I 
have  so  long  plucked  out  my  entrails  for.  their  sakes 
that  my  sacrifices  have  ceased  to  be  of  value.  Had 
they  asked  me  to  tear  out  my  eyes,  I  should  have  an- 
swered, '  Take  them ! '  I  have  been  a  fool.  They 
thought  all  fathers  were  like  me.  —  But  their  own 
children  will  avenge  me.  Tell  them  it  is  for  their 
interest  to  come  here ;  tell  them  to  think  of  their  own 
death-beds.  Go,  go  !  tell  them  to  come  :  not  to  come 


Pere  Goriot.  329 

is  parricide !  —  they  have  committed  that  already ; 
they  have  given  me  a  death  in  life.  —  Call  out ! 
call  out,  as  I  do,  '  Here,  Nasie !  Here,  Delphine ! 
Come  to  your  father  who  has  been  so  good  to  you,  and 
who  is  dying ! '  —  Are  they  coming  ?  No  ?  Am  I  to 
die  like  a  dog?  —  This  is  my  reward,  —  abandoned, 
forsaken  !  —  They  are  wicked,  they  are  criminal.  I 
hate  them  !  I  curse  them  !  I  will  rise  from  my  coffin 
to  curse  them  again !  —  Friends,  am  I  wrong  ?  They 
do  wrong —  Oh,  what  am  I  saying  ? —  Is  Delphine 
there  ?  Delphine  is  good  ;  but  Nasie  is  so  unhappy  ! 
And  their  money  !  —  Oh,  my  God !  let  me  die !  I 
suffer  so  !  My  head  !  my  head !  Cut  it  off,  but  leave 
me  my  heart !  " 

"  Christophe  !  go  for  Bianchon,"  cried  Eugene, 
horror-stricken ;  "  and  bring  me  a  cabriolet  I  am 
going  to  fetch  your  daughters,  dear  Pere  Goriot.  I 
will  bring  them  to  you." 

"  Yes,  by  force,  by  force  !  Get  the  gendarmes,  the 
troops,"  he  cried.  "  Tell  the  Government,  the  public 
prosecutor,  to  send  them.  I  will  have  them  ! " 

"  But  you  cursed  them." 

"Who  says  I  did?"  answered  the  old  man  with 
amazement.  "You  know  I  love  them  :  I  adore  them. 
I  shall  recover  if  I  see  them.  Yes,  go  for  them,  my 
good  friend,  my  dear  son.  You  have  been  very  kind 
to  me.  I  wish  I  could  thank  you  ;  but  I  have  nothing 
to  give  except  the  blessing  of  a  dying  man.  You  love 
your  father  and  mother,  —  I  know  you  do,"  he  con- 
tinued, pressing  the  student's  hand  in  his  failing  grasp. 
"  You  feel  what  it  is  to  die  as  I  am  dying,  —  without 
my  children.  To  be  thirsty,  and  never  to  drink,  —  that 


330  Pere  Goriot. 

is  how  I  have  lived  ten  years.  My  sons-in-law  have 
killed  my  daughters.  I  lost  them  when  they  married. 
Fathers !  petition  the  Chambers  for  a  law  against 
marriage.  No  more  marriages  !  —  they  t:;ke  our  chil- 
dren from  us,  and  we  die  desolate.  Make  a  law 
for  the  death  of  fathers !  —  Oh,  this  is  horrible,  hor- 
rible !  —  Vengeance  !  it  is  my  sons-in-law  who  keep 
them  away  from  me  !  They  assassinate  me !  Death, 
or  my  daughters !  —  Ah,  it  is  finished  !  I  die  with- 
out them  !  Fifine  !  Nasie  !  Fifine  !  come  !  — 

"  My  good  Pere  Goriot !  be  calm,  be  still,  don't 
think." 

"  Not  to  see  them !  —  it  is  the  agony  of  death." 

"  You  shall  see  them." 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  cried  the  old  man,  wandering.  "  See 
them  ?  I  am  to  see  them,  to  hear  their  voices?  I  shall 
die  happy. —  Well,  yes,  I  don't  ask  to  live;  I  don't 
wish  it ;  my  troubles  are  too  heavy.  But,  oh,  to  see 
them  !  to  touch  their  pretty  dresses !  — it  isn't  much  — 
to  smell  the  fragrance  —  ah !  put  my  hands  upon  their 
hair,  will— " 

He  fell  back  heavily  on  his  pillow,  felled  like  an  ox. 
His  fingers  wandered  over  the  coverlet  as  if  searching 
for  his  daughters'  hair.  "  I  bless  them,"  he  said,  mak- 
ing an  effort.  "  I  bless  —  " 

He  sank  unconscious.  At  this  moment  Bianchon 
came  in. 

"  I  met  Christophe,"  he  said.  "  He  is  bringing  you 
a  carriage."  Then  he  looked  at  the  sick  man  and 
lifted  his  eye-lids.  Both  saw  that  the  power  of  sight 
had  gone. 

"  He  won't  come  out  of  this ;  that  is,  I  think  not," 


Pere  Goriot.  331 

said  Bianchon.  He  felt  the  pulse,  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  old  man's  heart.  "  The  machine  is  still  run- 
ning, more 's  the  pity.  He  had  better  die." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rastignac. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  are  as  pale  as 
death." 

"  Bianchon  !  I  have  been  listening  to  such  cries, 
such  anguish !  There  is  a  God.  Oh,  yes,  there  is  a 
God  !  and  he  has  prepared  for  us  a  better  world,  or  this 
earth  would  be  foolishness.  If  it  were  not  so  tragic 
I  could  weep ;  my  whole  being  is  wrenched." 

"Dear  fellow! —  We  shall  want  several  things; 
where  can  we  get  the  money 't  " 

Rastignac  drew  out  his  watch.  "  Here,  pawn  this 
at  once.  I  can't  wait  a  moment.  J  hear  Christophe. 
I  have  not  a  farthing;  and  shall  have  to  pay  the 
coachman  when  I  get  back." 


332  Pere  Goriot. 


XIX. 

RASTIGNAC  ran  downstairs  and  started  for  the  Rue 
du  Helder  to  find  Madame  de  Restaud.  As  he  drove 
through  the  streets,  his  imagination,  excited  by  the 
horrors  he  had  witnessed,  increased  his  indignation. 
When  he  reached  the  antechamber  and  asked  for 
Madame  de  Restaud,  the  servants  told  him  she  could 
see  no  one. 

"  But,"  he  said  to  the  footman,  "  I  come  from  her 
father,  who  is  dying." 

"  Monsieur,  we  have  the  strictest  orders  from  Mon- 
sieur le  cotnte  — 

"  If  Monsieur  de  Restaud  is  at  home,  tell  him  the 
condition  of  his  father-in-law,  and  say  that  I  beg  to 
see  him  immediately." 

Eugene  waited  a  long  time.  "  He  may  be  dying  at 
this  moment,"  he  thought. 

The  footman  came  back  and  showed  him  into  the 
outer  salon,  where  Monsieur  de  Restaud  received  him 
standing,  without  asking  him  to  sit  down,  and  with 
his  back  to  a  fire-place  where  there  was  no  fire. 

"  Monsieur  le  comte,"  said  Rastignac,  "  your  father- 
in-law  is  dying  at  this  moment  in  a  wretched  lodging, 
without  a  farthing  even  to  buy  fuel.  He  is  about  to 
draw  his  last  breath,  and  is  asking  for  his  daughter." 

"Monsieur,"  replied  the  Comte  de  Restaud,  coldly, 
"  you  are  doubtless  aware  that  I  have  very  little 


Pere  Groriot.  333 

affection  for  Monsieur  Goriot.  He  has  compromised 
himself  by  unseemly  transactions  with  Madame  de 
Restaud ;  he  is  the  author  of  the  chief  misfortunes  of 
my  life ;  in  him  I  see  the  enemy  of  my  domestic  hap- 
piness.  I  cannot  care  whether  he  lives  or  dies  ;  to 
me  it  is  perfectly  indifferent.  Such  are  my  feelings 
concerning  him.  The  world  may  blame  me,  —  I  de- 
spise its  opinion ;  I  have  matters  of  far  more  impor- 
tance to  think  of  than  the  opinion  of  fools  or  third 
parties.  As  for  Madame  de  Kestaud,  she  is  in  no  con- 
dition to  leave  her  own  house ;  nor  do  I  wish  her  to 
leave  it.  You  may  tell  her  father  that  as  soon  as  she 
has  fulfilled  the  duty  she  owes  to  me  and  to  my  child, 
she  may  go  to  him.  If  she  loves  her  father,  she  can 
be  free  to  go  in  a  few  moments." 

"Monsieur  le  comte,  it  is  not  for  me  to  pass  judg- 
ment on  your  conduct ;  you  have  the  right  to  deal  with 
your  wife  as  you  think  best :  but  I  am  sure  that  I  can 
rely  upon  your  word.  Will  you  promise  to  tell  her 
that  her  father  cannot  live  another  day,  and  that  he 
has  already  cursed  her  because  she  has  not  come  to 
him  ?  " 

"  Tell  her  yourself,"  said  Monsieur  de  Restaud, 
struck  by  the  tone  of  indignation  with  which  Ras- 
tignac  uttered  these  words. 

Eugene  followed  the  count  into  the  inner  room 
where  Madame  de  Restaud  usually  sat.  They  found 
her  bathed  in  tears,  lying  back  in  her  chair  like  a 
woman  who  longed  to  die.  Eugene  pitied  her.  Before 
noticing  him,  she  turned  a  timid  look  upon  her  hus- 
band, —  a  look  which  showed  how  completely  she  was 
prostrated,  mentally  and  physically,  by  the  power  he 


334  P$re  Groriot* 

now  wielded  over  her.  The  count  made  a  sign  with  his 
head,  which  she  took  as  a  permission  to  speak. 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  heard  all,"  she  said.  "  Tell  my 
father  that  if  he  knew  my  situation  he  would  forgive 
me.  I  did  not  expect  this  additional  misery :  it  is 
more  than  I  have  strength  to  bear.  But  I  will  resist 
to  the  last,"  she  continued,  turning  to  her  husband  :  "  I 
am  a  mother.  Tell  rny  father  I  am  not  to  blame,  in 
spite  of  appearances,"  she  added,  with  an  accent  of 
despair. 

Rastignac  bowed  to  husband  and  wife.  He  could 
guess  through  what  a  trial  the  woman  was  passing, 
and  he  went  away  silenced.  From  Monsieur  de  Res- 
taud's  tone,  he  saw  that  remonstrances  were  useless ; 
and  he  judged  that  Anastasie  herself  would  not  dare 
to  make  them. 

He  hastened  to  Madame  de  Nucingen. 

"  I  am  quite  unwell,  my  poor  friend,"  she  said,  as 
he  entered.  "  I  took  cold  coming  away  from  the  ball, 
and  I  am  afraid  it  may  settle  on  my  lungs.  I  am  ex- 
pecting the  doctor  — 

"  If  death  were  on  your  lips,"  said  Eugene,  interrupt- 
ing her,  "you  should  drag  yourself  to  your  father's 
bedside.  He  is  dying,  —  and  he  calls  for  you.  If  you 
heard  but  the  least  of  his  cries,  you  would  not  fancy 
yourself  ill." 

"Eugene,  perhaps  my  father  is  not  as  ill  as  you 
think.  But  I  should  be  in  despair  if  you  thought  me 
to  blame.  I  will  try  to  please  you.  He,  I  know, 
would  be  filled  with  grief  if  my  illness  were  made 
serious  by  the  imprudence  of  going  out  to-day.  But 
I  will  go,  after  I  have  seen  the  doctor.  —  Ah !  what 


Pere  Groriot.  335 

have  you  done  with  your  watch  ?  "  she  cried,  observ- 
ing that  he  did  not  wear  the  chain. 

Eugene  hesitated. 

"  Eugene  !  Eugene  !  if  you  have  sold  it,  or  lost  it  — 
oh  !  it  would  be  very  —  " 

Rastignac  leaned  over  her  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  ?  Well,  know  it,  then  ! 
Your  father  has  not  money  to  buy  the  winding-sheet 
in  which  they  will  wrap  him  this  evening.  Your 
watch  is  in  pawn :  I  had  nothing  else. 

Delphine  sprang  up  and  ran  to  her  writing-table, 
from  which  she  took  her  purse  and  gave  it  to  Ras- 
tignac. She  rang  her  bell  and  cried,  "  I  am  coming, 
I  am  coming,  Eugene  !  Let  me  get  dressed.  Oh,  I 
should  be  a  monster  not  to  go  !  Go  back ;  I  will  be 
there  before  you.  Therese,"  she  said,  turning  to  her 
waiting-maid,  "  ask  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  to  come  up 
at  once  and  speak  to  me." 

Eugene,  glad  to  comfort  the  dying  man  with  the 
news  that  one  of  his  daughters  was  coming,  reached 
the  Rue  Neuve  Sainte-Genevieve  almost  in  good  spirits. 
When  he  paid  his  coachman,  he  discovered  that  the 
purse  of  this  wealthy,  elegant,  and  envied  woman  con- 
tained sixty-six  francs !  Pere  Goriot,  supported  by 
Bianchon,  was  being  operated  upon  by  the  hospital 
surgeon,  under  the  superintendence  of  the  chief  phy- 
sician. They  were  applying  the  actual  cautery,  — 
a  last  resource  of  science,  but  in  this  case  wholly 
ineffectual. 

"  Can  you  feel  it  ?  "  asked  the  physician. 

Pere  Goriot,  seeing  the  student  enter  the  room,  cried 
out,  "  Are  they  coming  ?  " 


336  Pere  Goriot. 

"  He  may  pull  through,"  said  the  surgeon.  "  He 
can  speak." 

"Yes,"  replied  Eugene  ;  "  Delphine  is  on  her  way." 

"  It  won't  do,"  said  Bianchon  ;  "  he  is  only  talking  of 
his  daughters.  He  cries  after  them  as  a  man  impaled 
cries,  they  say,  for  water." 

"  We  may  as  well  give  it  up,"  said  the  physician  to 
the  surgeon.  "  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done  ;  we 
cannot  save  him." 

Bianchon  and  the  surgeon  replaced  the  dying  man 
upon  his  wretched  bed. 

"  You  had  better  change  the  linen,"  said  the  physi- 
cian. "There  is  no  hope;  but  something  is  always 
due  to  human  nature.  I  will  come  back,  Bianchon," 
he  said  to  his  pupil.  "  If  he  seems  to  suffer,  put  lau- 
danum on  the  diaphragm." 

The  surgeon  and  physician  went  away. 

"  Come,  Eugene,  courage,  my  lad !  "  said  Bianchon 
when  they  were  left  alone.  "We  must  put  on  a  clean 
shirt,  and  change  the  bed.  Go  down  and  ask  Sylvie  to 
bring  up  some  sheets  and  stop  and  help  us." 

Eugene  went  down  and  found  Madame  Vauquer 
helping  Sylvie  to  set  the  dinner-table.  At  his  first 
words  the  widow  came  up  to  him  with  the  sour  civility 
of  a  shopkeeper  doubtful  about  the  payment,  yet  un- 
willing to  lose  a  customer. 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  Eugene,"  she  said,  "  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  Pere  Goriot  has  not  a  sou.  To 
furnish  sheets  to  a  man  just  giving  up  the  ghost  is 
throwing  them  away,  —  one  of  them  at  least  must  be 
sacrificed  for  the  winding-sheet.  Besides  this,  you  owe 
me  one  hundred  and  forty-four  francs ;  add  forty  francs 


P£re  Croriot.  337 

for  the  sheets  and  some  other  little  things,  including  the 
candles,  —  which  Sylvie  will  give  you,  —  and  it  mounts 
up  to  not  less  than  two  hundred  francs ;  a  sum  which  a 
poor  widow  like  me  cannot  afford  to  lose.  Come  !  do 
me  justice,  Monsieur  Eugene.  I  have  lost  enough  the 
last  few  days  since  ill-luck  got  hold  of  me.  I  would 
have  given  five  louis  if  the  old  man  had  gone  away 
when  he  gave  notice.  My  lodgers  don't  like  this  sort 
of  thing.  It  would  not  take  much  to  make  me  even 
now  send  him  off  to  the  hospital.  Put  yourself  in  my 
place.  My  establishment  is  the  chief  thing  to  me,  of 
course.  It  is  my  support,  my  all." 

Eugene  ran  up  swiftly  to  Pere  Goriot's  chamber. 
"  The  money  for  the  watch,  Bianchon,  where  is  it  ?" 

"On  the  table.  You  will  find  three  hundred  and 
sixty-odd  francs  left.  I  have  paid  all  we  owe.  The 
pawn  ticket  is  under  the  money." 

"  Here  Madame,"  said  Rastignac,  rushing  headlong 
down  the  staircase,  "  let  us  settle  our  accounts.  Mon- 
sieur Goriot  will  not  long  be  with  you,  and  I  —  " 

"  Yes,  he  will  go  out  feet  foremost,  poor  old  man," 
she  said,  counting  up  her  two  hundred  francs  with  an 
air  of  complacent  melancholy. 

"  Let  us  make  an  end  of  this,"  cried  Rastignac. 

"  Sylvie,  give  out  the  sheets,  and  go  and  help  the 
gentlemen  upstairs.  You  will  not  forget  Sylvie," 
whispered  Madame  Vauquer  to  Eugene.  "  She  has 
sat  up  two  nights,  you  know." 

As  soon  as  Eugene's  back  was  turned,  the  old  woman 
ran  after  her  cook.  "  Take  the  sheets  that  have  been 
turned,  Sylvie,  —  No.  7.  Good  enough  for  a  corpse," 
she  whispered. 

22 


338  Pere  Goriot. 

Eugene  being  already  half  way  up  the  stairs  did  not 
hear  his  landlady's  words. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Bianchon,  "  we  will  change  his 
shirt.  Hold  him  up." 

Eugene  went  to  the  head  of  the  bed  and  supported 
Pere  Goriot,  while  Bianchon  drew  off  his  shirt.  The 
old  man  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  grasp  something  on 
his  breast,  uttering  plaintive  inarticulate  cries,  like  an 
animal  in  pain. 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  said  Bianchon,  "  he  wants  a  little  hair- 
chain  and  locket  which  we  took  off  when  we  applied 
the  fire.  Poor  old  man !  Put  it  around  his  neck 
again;  it  is  on  the  chimney-piece." 

Eugene  took  up  the  little  chain,  made  of  a  tress  of 
chestnut  hair,  which  was  doubtless  Madame  Goriot's. 
Attached  to  it  was  a  locket,  with  the  names  "  Anas- 
tasie  "  on  one  side  and  "  Delphine  "  on  the  other ;  fit 
emblem  of  his  constant  heart,  it  lay  upon  that  heart 
continually.  The  curls  in  the  locket  were  so  fine  that 
they  must  have  been  cut  off  when  the  little  girls  were 
infants.  As  Eugene  replaced  the  trinket  on  his  breast 
the  old  man  gave  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  relief,  heart- 
breaking to  hear.  It  was  well-nigh  the  final  echo  of  his 
living  emotions,  as  they  drew  in  to  the  unknown  centre 
from  which  spring  and  to  which  return  our  human  sym- 
pathies. His  face,  much  distorted,  wore  an  unnatural 
expression  of  joy.  The  two  young  men,  deeply  moved 
by  this  sudden  explosion  of  a  feeling  which  had  out- 
lived the  power  of  thought,  let  fall  hot  tears,  which 
touched  the  face  of  the  dying  man.  He  uttered  a 
piercing  cry  of  pleasure. 

"  Nasie  !   Fifine ! "  he  exclaimed. 


Pere  Goriot.  339 

"  He  is  still  living,"  said  Bianchon. 

"  What 's  the  use  of  that  ?  "  said  Sylvie. 

"  To  suffer,"  replied  Rastignac. 

Making  Eugene  a  sign  to  do  as  he  did,  Bianchon 
knelt  down  beside  the  bed  to  pass  his  arms  beneath  the 
sick  man's  knees,  while  Rastignac  on  the  other  side  did 
the  same,  supporting  the  shoulders.  Sylvie  stood  by 
to  draw  the  sheet  as  the  weight  was  raised,  and  slip 
through  one  of  those  she  had  brought  up  with  her. 
Misled  no  doubt  by  the  tears  that  he  had  felt  upon  his 
face,  Pere  Goriot  used  his  last  strength  to  stretch  out 
his  hands  on  either  side  of  the  bed  and  grasped  the 
hair  of  the  two  students,  muttering  feebly,  "  Ah,  my 
angels  ! "  —  two  words  sighed  forth  by  the  spirit  as  it 
took  its  flight. 

"  Poor,  dear  man ! "  said  Sylvie,  much  affected  by  this 
exclamation,  —  the  utterance  of  the  ever-dominant  pas- 
sion drawn  forth  by  an  involuntary  deception.  The 
last  conscious  sigh  of  the  unhappy  father  was  a  sigh  of 
joy.  It  expressed  his  whole  life,  —  delusion  ;  deluded 
even  in  death  !  They  laid  him  gently  back  upon  the 
wretched  pallet,  and  from  that  moment  his  face  showed 
only  fluctuations  between  life  and  death,  —  the  move- 
ments of  the  machinery  no  longer  guided  by  the  brain, 
in  which  alone  resides  the  consciousness  of  human  joy 
and  misery. 

"  He  will  lie  as  he  is  for  some  hours,  and  die  so  qui- 
etly that  no  one  will  perceive  when  the  end  comes. 
There  will  be  no  rattle  in  his  throat.  His  brain  has 
ceased  to  act,"  said  Bianchon. 

At  this  moment  they  heard  the  rapid  footsteps  of  a 
young  woman. 


340  Pere  Goriot. 

"It  is  Delphine,"  said  Rastignac;  "she  comes  too 
late." 

It  was  not  Delphine,  but  Therese,  her  waiting- 
woman. 

"  Monsieur  Eugene,"  she  said,  "  there  has  been  an 
angry  scene  between  Monsieur  and  Madame,  about 
some  money  Madame  asked  for,  for  her  father.  She 
fainted  away ;  the  doctor  came  and  bled  her.  She  kept 
saying,  '  Papa  is  dying,  I  must  go  to  him ! '  Her  cries 
were  enough  to  break  one's  heart." 

"  That  will  do,  Therese.  Her  coming  would  be  su- 
perfluous now.  Monsieur  Goriot  has  lost  conscious- 
ness." 

"  Poor,  dear  Monsieur !  is  he  so  bad  as  that  ?  "  said 
Therese. 

"  You  don't  want  me  any  more;  I  must  go  and  see 
after  my  dinner.  It  is  half-past  five  now,"  said  Sylvie, 
who  as  she  went  downstairs  nearly  fell  over  Madame 
de  Restaud. 

The  countess  glided  into  the  death-chamber  like  an 
apparition.  She  gazed  at  the  bed  by  the  light  of  the 
one  poor  candle,  and  shed  tears  as  she  looked  down 
upon' the  face  of  her  dying  father,  where  the  last  flicker- 
ings  of  life  still  quivered.  Bianchon  left  the  room,  out 
of  respect  for  her  feelings. 

"  I  could  not  escape  soon  enough,"  she  said  to 
Rastignac. 

The  student  sadly  shook  his  head  to  imply  that  this 
was  time.  Madame  de  Restaud  took  her  father's  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

"  Forgive  me,  oh,  my  Father ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
used  to  say  that  my  voice  would  call  you  from  the 


P£re  G-oriot.  341 

tomb.  Come  back  to  life  one  moment  to  bless  your 
repentant  daughter!  Oh,  hear  me ! —  This  is  dread- 
ful! Your  blessing  is  the  only  one  I  can  hope  for 
here  below.  All  hate  me;  you  alone  in  this  wide 
world  can  love  me.  My  children  will  abhor  me.  Oh, 
take  me  with  you !  I  will  love  you ;  I  will  wait  upon 
you  —  He  does  not  hear  me.  I  am  mad  —  " 

She  fell  upon  her  knees,  gazing  at  the  wreck  before 
her. 

"  My  cup  of  misery  is  full,"  she  cried,  looking  up  at 
Eugene.  "  Monsieur  de  Trailles  has  gone,  leaving  enor- 
mous debts  behind  him,  —  and  I  now  know  that  he 
deceived  me  all  along.  My  husband  can  never  forgive 
me  ;  I  have  made  over  to  him  the  disposal  of  my  for- 
tune ;  my  children  are  destitute.  Alas !  for  what,  for 
whom,  have  I  betrayed  the  only  faithful  heart  that 
loved  me  ?  I  did  not  understand  him ;  I  cast  him  off ; 
I  did  so  many  cruel  things  to  him  —  Oh,  wicked 
woman  that  I  am ! " 

"  He  knew  it,"  said  Rastignac. 

At  that  moment  Pere  Goriot  opened  his  eyes ;  but 
the  movement  was  only  convulsive  and  involuntary. 
The  gesture  by  which  his  daughter  showed  her  hope 
of  recognition  was  not  less  terrible  to  witness  than  his 
dull,  dying  eyes. 

"  Can  he  not  hear  me  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Ah,  no !  "  she 
added  after  a  pause,  sitting  down  beside  the  bed. 

As  she  expressed  the  wish  to  watch  him,  Eugene 
went  downstairs  to  take  some  food.  The  guests 
were  all  assembled  in  the  salon. 

"  Well,"  said  the  painter,  "  so  we  are  to  have  a  little 
death-orama  upstairs  ?  " 


342  Pere  G-oriot. 

"Charles,"  said  Eugene,  "choose  some  less  melan- 
choly subject  to  joke  upon." 

"  Dear  me  !  is  it  forbidden  to  laugh  under  this  roof  ? 
What  does  it  matter?  Bianchon  says  the  old  fellow 
has  lost  his  senses." 

"  If  that  is  so,"  said  the  employe,  "  he  will  die  as  he 
lived." 

"  My  father  is  dead ! "  shrieked  Madame  de  Restaud. 
Rastignac  and  Bianchon  ran  upstairs,  where  they  found 
her  fainting  on  the  floor.  After  bringing  her  back 
to  consciousness,  Eugene  took  her  down  to  the  hack- 
ney coach  in  which  she  had  come,  and  consigned  her 
to  Therese,  with  orders  to  take  her  to  Madame  de 
Nucingen. 

"Yes,  he  is  quite  dead,"  said  Bianchon,  coming  down 
again. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  sit  down  to  table,"  said  Madame 
Vauquer.  "  The  soup  is  getting  cold." 

The  two  students  took  their  places  by  each  other. 

"What  is  to  be  done  next?"  said  Eugene  to 
Bianchon. 

"I  have  closed  his  eyes,  and  composed  him  properly. 
When  the  doctor  from  the  Mayor's  office  has  certified 
to  the  death,  which  we  will  report  at  once,  he  will  be 
sewn  up  in  a  sheet  and  buried.  Where  do  you  mean 
to  put  him?" 

"  He  will  never  sniff  his  bread  any  more,  like  this," 
said  one  of  the  guests,  mimicking  the  trick  of  the  poor 
old  man. 

"  The  devil !  gentlemen,"  cried  the  tutor,  "  do  leave 
Pere  Goriot  alone.  We  don't  want  any  more  of  him. 
You  have  served  him  up  with  every  kind  of  sauce  for 


Pere,  Gioriot.  343 

the  last  hour.  One  of  the  privileges  of  this  good  city 
of  Paris  is  that  you  can  come  into  the  world,  live  in 
it  and  go  out  of  it,  and  nobody  will  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  you.  Avail  yourselves  of  the  advantages  of 
civilization.  According  to  statistics,  sixty  persons 
have  died  in  Paris  this  very  day.  Are  we  called 
upon  to  weep  over  Parisian  hecatombs?  If  Pere 
Goriot  is  dead,  so  much  the  better  for  him.  If  you 
were  all  so  fond  of  him,  you  can  go  and  keep  watch 
beside  him  ;  but  leave  the  rest  of  us  to  eat  our  dinners 
in  peace." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  widow.  "  It  is  much  better  for 
him  that  he  is  dead.  It  seems  the  poor  man  has  had 
plenty  of  troubles  all  his  life  long." 

This  was  the  only  funeral  oration  pronounced  over  a 
being  who  in  the  eyes  of  Rastignac  was  the  incarna- 
tion of  Fatherhood. 

The  fifteen  guests  began  to  talk  about  other  things. 
"When  Eugene  and  Bianchon  had  finished  eating,  the 
clatter  of  knives  and  forks,  the  laughter,  the  jests,  the 
various  expressions  on  the  callous,  greedy  faces  round 
the  table  struck  them  with  horror.  They  went  in 
search  of  a  priest  to  watch  and  pray  during  the  night 
beside  the  dead.  It  was  necessary  to  calculate  the 
last  duties  they  could  render  to  their  poor  old  friend 
by  the  slender  sum  they  had  to  spend.  About  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening  the  body  was  placed  on  a 
bier  between  two  tallow  candles,  in  the  centre  of  the 
wretched  chamber ;  and  a  pi-iest  came  to  watch  beside 
it.  Before  going  to  bed,  Rastignac,  who  had  obtained 
information  from  the  ecclesiastic  as  to  burial  fees  and 
the  cost  of  funeral  rites,  wrote  to  the  Baron  de  Nucin- 


344  Pere  Goriot. 

gen  and  the  Comte  de  Restaud,  asking  them  to  send 
their  men  of  business  with  orders  to  provide  for  a 
suitable  interment.  He  sent  Christophe  with  these 
notes,  and  then  went  to  his  own  bed  and  slept,  worn 
out  with  fatigue. 

The  next  morning  Bianchon  and  Rastignac  were 
forced  to  go  themselves  and  declare  the  death,  which 
was  certified  to  officially  by  midday.  Two  hours 
passed ;  neither  of  the  sons-in-law  sent  money,  nor 
did  any  one  appear  who  was  authorized  to  act  in  their 
names.  Rastignac  had  already  been  obliged  to  pay 
the  priest,  and  Sylvie  having  demanded  ten  francs  for 
sewing  the  corpse  in  its  winding-sheet,  Rastignac  and 
Bianchon  came  to  the  conclusion  that  as  the  relatives 
would  do  nothing,  they  had  barely  enough  money  to 
provide  the  cheapest  funeral.  The  medical  student 
undertook  to  place  the  body  himself  in  a  pauper's  cof- 
fin, which  he  sent  from  the  hospital,  where  he  could 
buy  it  for  less  cost  than  elsewhere. 

"Play  a  trick  upon  those  people,  —  they  deserve 
it,"  he  said  to  Rastignac.  '-'Buy  a  grave  for  five 
years  in  Pere-La-Chaise,  and  order  a  third-class  fu- 
neral service  at  the  Church,  and  from  the  Pompes- 
Funebres,  and  send  the  bills  to  the  family.  If  the 
sons-in-law  and  the  daughters  don't  choose  to  pay  it, 
we  will  have  engraved  upon  his  tombstone,  '  Here  lies 
Monsieur  Goriot,  father  of  the  Comtesse  de  Restaud 
and  the  Baronne  de  Nucingen.  Buried  at  the  expense 
of  two  students.' " 

Eugene  did  not  take  his  friend's  advice  until  he 
had  been,  but  in  vain,  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Nucingen's  house  and  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 


Pere  Goriot.  345 

Restaud's.  He  could  not  gain  admittance.  Both 
porters  had  strict  orders. 

"  Monsieur  and  Madame,"  they  said,  "  receive  no 
one  :  they  are  in  deep  affliction,  owing  to  the  death  of 
their  father." 

Eugene  had  had  enough  experience  of  Parisian  life 
to  know  that  it  was  useless  to  persist  further.  He  was 
greatly  wounded  when  he  found  that  he  could  not  see 
Delphine.  "  Sell  a  necklace,"  he  wrote  in  the  porter's 
lodge,  "  that  your  father  may  be  decently  consigned  to 
his  last  resting-place." 

He  sealed  the  note,  and  begged  the  porter  to  give  it 
to  Therese  for  her  mistress;  but  the  man  gave  it  to 
the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  who  put  it  in  the  fire. 

Having  made  all  his  arrangements,  Eugene  came 
back  a  little  after  three  o'clock  to  the  Maison  Vauquer, 
and  could  not  help  shedding  tears  when  he  saw  the 
bier  at  the  iron  gate,  scantily  covered  with  black  cloth 
and  placed  upon  two  chairs  in  the  lonely  street.  An 
old  holy-water  sprinkler,  which  no  hand  had  yet 
touched,  lay  beside  it  in  a  plated  copper  vessel  full 
of  holy  water.  The  gateway  was  not  even  hung 
with  black.  It  was  a  pauper  funeral,  —  no  pomp,  no 
attendants,  no  friends,  no  relatives.  Bianchon,  whose 
duties  kept  him  at  the  Hospital,  had  left  a  note  for 
Rastignac  to  let  him  know  what  arrangements  he  had 
made  for  the  Church  services.  He  told  him  that  a 
Mass  could  not  be  had  for  the  sum  they  were  able  to 
pay ;  that  they  must  put  up  with  a  less  costly  service 
at  vespers ;  and  that  he  had  sent  Christophe  to  notify 
the  Pompes-Funebres. 


346  Pere  Goriot. 

As  Rastignac  finished  reading  Bianchon's  scrawl,  he 
saw  in  Madame  Vauquer's  hands  the  gold  locket  which 
had  lain  upon  the  old  man's  heart.  , 

"  How  dared  you  take  that  ?  "  he  said  to  her. 

"  Bless  me !  "  cried  Sylvie,  "  did  you  mean  to  bury 
him  with  that  ?  Why,  it 's  gold." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Eugene  indignantly.  '-'  Let  him  at 
least  take  with  him  to  the  grave  the  only  thing  that 
represents  his  daughters." 

When  the  hearse  came,  Eugene  ordered  the  coffin 
to  be  taken  back  into  the  house,  where  he  unscrewed 
the  nails,  and  reverently  placed  upon  the  old  man's 
heart  that  relic  of  the  days  when  Delphine  and  Anas- 
tasie  had  been  young  and  pure,  and  "  did  not  reason," 
as  he  had  said  in  his  dying  moments. 

Rastignac  and  Christophe  and  two  of  the  under- 
taker's men  were  all  who  accompanied  the  hearse 
which  carried  the  poor  man  to  the  nearest  church, 
Saint-Etienne  du  Mont,  not  far  from  the  Rue  Neuve 
Sainte-Genevieve.  There  the  corpse  was  placed  in 
a  little  chapel,  low  and  dark,  round  which  the  student 
looked  in  vain  for  the  daughters  of  Pere  Goriot  or  their 
husbands.  He  was  alone  with  Christophe,  who  thought 
himself  under  an  obligation  to  pay  the  last  duties  to  a 
man  who  had  been  the  means  of  procui-ing  for  him 
many  large  pour-boires.  While  waiting  for  the  two 
officiating  priests,  the  choir-boy,  and  the  beadle,  Rastig- 
nac pressed  Christophe's  hand,  but  could  not  speak. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Eugene,"  said  Christophe,  "  he  was 
a  good  and  honest  man ;  he  never  said  an  angry  word ; 
he  never  tried  to  injure  any  one ;  he  never  did  an  un- 
kind thing." 


P$re  Goriot.  347 

The  two  priests,  the  acolyte,  and  the  beadle  came 
and  gave  all  that  could  be  had  for  seventy  francs  in  an 
epoch  when  religion  is  too  poor  to  pray  for  nothing. 
The  clergy  sang  a  psalm,  the  Libera,  and  the  De 
profundis.  The  service  lasted  twenty  minutes.  There 
was  only  one  mourning-coach,  intended  for  the  priest 
and  the  choir-boy ;  but  they  allowed  Rastignac  and 
Christophe  to  go  with  them. 

"  As  there  is  no  procession,"  said  the  priest,  "  we  can 
go  fast,  so  as  not  to  be  late.  It  is  half-past  five  now." 

However,  just  as  the  coffin  was  replaced  in  the 
hearse  two  carriages  with  armorial  bearings,  but  empty 
(those  of  the  Comte  de  Restaud  and  the  Baron  de  Nu- 
cingen),  made  their  appearance  and  followed  the  funeral 
to  Pere-La-Chaise.  At  six  o'clock  the  body  of  Pere 
Goriot  was  lowered  into  its  grave,  round  which  stood 
the  footmen  of  his  daughters,  who  disappeared  with 
the  clergy  as  soon  as  a  short  prayer  —  all  that  could 
be  given  for  the  student's  money  —  was  over.  "When 
the  two  grave-diggers  had  thrown  a  few  shovelsful  of 
earth  upon  the  coffin  they  came  out  of  the  grave,  and 
turning  to  Rastignac  asked  him  for  their  drink-money. 
Eugene  felt  in  his  pockets,  but  nothing  was  there.  He 
had  to  borrow  a  franc  from  Christophe.  This  cir- 
cumstance, trivial  in  itself,  produced  in  his  mind  a 
horrible  depression.  Day  was  departing ;  a  damp  mist 
irritated  his  nerves.  He  looked  down  into  the  grave 
and  buried  there  the  last  tear  of  his  young  manhood,  — 
a  last  tear  springing  from  the  sacred  emotions  of  a  pure 
heart,  which  from  the  earth  on  which  it  fell  exhaled  to 
heaven.  He  folded  his  arms  and  stood  gazing  upward 
at  the  clouds.  Seeing  him  thus,  Christophe  went  away. 


348  Pere  Croriot. 

Left  alone,  Rastignac  walked  a  few  steps  until  he 
reached  the  highest  part  of  the  cemetery,  and  saw 
Paris  as  it  lies  along  the  winding  shores  of  the  Seine. 
Lights  were  beginning  to  glitter  in  the  gathering  dark- 
ness. His  eyes  turned  eagerly  to  the  space  between 
the  column  of  the  Place  Vendome  and  the  dome  of  the 
Invalides.  There  lived  that  world  of  fashion  which 
it  had  been  his  dream  to  enter.  He  gave  the  hum- 
ming hive  a  look  that  seemed  to  suck  it  of  its  honey, 
and  then  he  cried  aloud,  "  War !  war  between  us, 
henceforth !  " 

And  as  a  first  act  of  hostility  to  Society,  Rastignac 
went  to  dine  with  Madame  de  Nucingen. 


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